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The man bows when he gets closer. “The famous Miss Granville, I presume?” he asks, glancing between me and Ben. His voice, familiar in a way I can’t place, threatens another fog of memory to overtake me. This man, in a more modern suit. No, not quite modern, but not this suit. Fingers grazing over my cheek.

This dream is a bit erratic.

“Clara,” Ben says in a soft voice, snapping me away from the not fully formed memory. Not memory. Daydream?

I shake my head. “Oh,” I breathe. “Excuse me. Yes, a pleasure to meet you.” I hold out my hand, but Ben shakes his head the slightest bit at me.

Before I can retract my attempt at a handshake, the man takes it in his gloved hand. He kisses my hand and straightens. I can’t explain why my heart starts beating too fast or the heat that rushes to my cheeks. I take a deep breath.

Well, as deep as I can. No reason for him to get the wrong impression of me right off the bat.

“May I introduce you to Mr. Allen?” Ben asks abruptly, tugging me closer. I glance over at him. Did he catch my weird reaction to the new guy and think it was attraction or something? Do we even know each other well enough for him to be jealous?

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Granville,” Mr. Allen says.

This time I realize he has a British accent. Okay, Ben can’t really blame me here for a little bit of attraction, right? He’s British.

My smile is automatic. “Thank you, Mr. Allen.”

“Shall we?” Ben’s voice is brisk, and I swallow back a laugh at what appears to be possessiveness. This feels like more evidence that my brain is giving me some romantic fantasy where two really hot men are instantly in love with me.

Whatever’s going on, I’m not going to ruffle Ben’s feathers. He’s my benefactor right now and my only chance of getting home.

If this is real.

I’m starting to worry it might be.

Ben takes my arm and leads me to our table. Mr. Allen is forgotten when I glimpse the sheer number of forks awaiting me at the place at the table Ben leads me to. My eyes widen. “Look at all those forks…” I whisper.

Ben grins, patting my arm in a protective way. “What do they always say? Start from the outside in. I’ll be right here, so don’t worry. Besides, if you mess up, it will be the perfect opening for explaining why you need a tutor.”

I imagine the conniving of the British women in a novel I just read about an American heiress who married into the British nobility. These are American women, maybe more accepting of someone rising in the ranks, but they’re still society, and if my reading habit has taught me anything, it’s that they’re going to be suspicious from the start.

“Okay,” I answer, and I know Ben hears my uncertainty by the way he squeezes my hand before letting go and pulling out my chair for me. I lower myself slowly, still trying to get used to the weird way my body moves in this corset, and when I notice the chair shaking, I look up to see Ben laughing silently. I raise an eyebrow and glare. Yeah, so maybe he had a rough time being plopped into the past with no one to guide him, but at least he’s never had to wear a corset.

“How long will you be with us at The Villa, Miss Granville?” Mr. Allen leans toward me from his seat across the table.

I blink at him, and honestly, it’s not a huge surprise that I’m only thirty seconds into this charade and already at a loss. “Oh … well.” I glance at Ben, but he’s turned to his right, listening to something Mrs. Halloway is saying to him. “As long as Mr. Mitchell stays, I suppose. He is my guardian.”

“You poor dear.” Mrs. Halloway frowns at me sympathetically and then smiles at Ben. My own jealousy pricks, but I beat it back. I don’t know anything about Ben’s friendship with this woman, and it’s probably completely innocent. She’s married. “We practically had to kidnap Mr. Mitchell last year to get him to San Francisco,” she continues indulgently. “And he only stayed a week before he sneaked back up here.”

“You can’t blame a man for liking peace and quiet, Mrs. Halloway,” Mr. Allen admonishes her with a grin. He nods at Ben in a friendly way, and then his gaze falls on me again. He holds it, and I can’t quite place why that gaze feels so familiar. I realize, too late, that I’m staring back at him. I snap my eyes down to the food that the waiters delivered a moment ago.

“Peace and quiet?” Mrs. Halloway laughs. It’s a light, attractive tinkling sound exactly as a society woman like her should emit. “There’s a lake and little else. It’s the seat of boredom.” It doesn’t surprise me that Mrs. Halloway might prefer balls and parties. I’ve only heard her husband say one or two things since I met him, and she comes off as vivacious and social. It’s an interesting match that I’m dying to know more about.

“Don’t be so hard on The Villa.” Ben wags his finger at her. “There is often good company to keep me entertained.”

I catch a quick pink blush that flashes across Mrs. Halloway’s cheeks before she chases it away with laughter. “I’ll grant you the summer, Mr. Mitchell, although the month John imprisons me here is hard enough. What can you possibly do during those long winter months when no one dares darken the door of this place for fear they might be snowed in through the whole season?”

“I write, Mrs. Halloway.”

She smirks at him for that answer. Did she already know? Was she goading him into saying it in front of their company? I turn to Ben, trying to read something of their relationship in his face, but just like in his room before, it’s blank.

“Ahh, the lonely artist,” Mrs. Halloway teases.

Ben merely gives her a chuckle and shakes his head. I can’t help narrowing my gaze at them both. Mrs. Halloway is not my rival, and I won’t turn her into a flat, mean-girl character right off the bat.

“Well.” Mrs. Halloway turns her attention to me, and I quickly force a smile onto my expression. “You must not keep Miss Granville here all year around. I insist you bring her to San Francisco once we return in a few weeks.” She raises her eyebrows at me, silently asking my support in her proposition.