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Historical Bundle

Historical Bundle

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Embark on a romantic journey through time with the enchanting Lilac City Romance and Twickenham Full-Moon Ball Time Travel collections. From the mystical allure of Victorian England to the rugged frontiers of turn-of-the-century Wyoming, these stories weave a tapestry of love, adventure, and timeless passion. Discover characters whose hearts transcend time, where each page promises a love story that's both deeply rooted in history and magical.

Main Tropes

  • Victorian Time Travel
  • Historical Western Romance
  • Later in Life Romance

Synopsis

From the mystical allure of Victorian England to the rugged frontiers of turn-of-the-century Wyoming, these stories weave a tapestry of love, adventure, and timeless passion.

Intro Into Chapter One

From With the Magic

Catherine Ryan watched as the group of five Americans descended the stairs of the broad staircase at Twickenham Manor. She’d danced with the tall man, and he’d been quite pleasant. He’d mentioned his regret at only being able to join his friends in time for the ball. It marked the end of Aunt Nellie’s weeklong Regency immersive vacation.

Curious, Catherine noted how attentive he now was to the tall woman he had his arm around. Earlier, it’d been entertaining to watch the two of them interact. The space around them had practically crackled with their attraction, yet they’d seemed to circle each other as though opponents in a fencing match.

Now, his manner toward her showed a higher level of intimacy, much more than had been present earlier. However, the woman also showed signs of having been crying. What could have happened to bring them together so quickly? There was obviously a story; there always seemed to be stories here.

That was what continued to draw Catherine back to Twickenham each month. She’d always been a people watcher, and she enjoyed the assortment of personalities she found here. Over the last year, she’d attended nearly a dozen of Aunt Nellie’s monthly balls, and it was the story potential that had drawn Catherine back. Perhaps she might one day become a writer like her father, but one of fiction. Doctors could be writers too.

She continued to watch the Americans and smiled. Her experiences here would lend themselves well to a romance novel.

Catherine gave a soft chuckle. Two others in the group were now a couple when they hadn’t been earlier in the evening. She squinted to see better. Was she imagining it or did they seem more tanned than they had been earlier? Catherine shook her head. She was being fanciful now.

She looked at the stairs they’d just descended, tempted to climb them. One guest at an earlier ball had commented that they weren’t allowed on the fourth floor. That had intrigued Catherine. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch, she’d wanted to investigate. Her curiosity had always made her good at her job. She liked to look beyond the obvious.

Whenever she’d observed anomalies at Nellie’s, they’d always seemed to come from upstairs. Since the first time Catherine had toured the house, she’d felt a pull to seek out whatever was up those stairs. She let out a breath; she should return to the ballroom.

The Americans were passing her, and the tall woman who’d been crying said something that sent a chill down Catherine’s spine.

“I can’t bear that they’re all dead now.”

Dead? The comment brought a macabre feel to the evening, and Catherine’s curiosity-itch flared. She peered at the stairs again with narrowed eyes; she had to investigate.

But, if Aunt Nellie were to discover Catherine up there, would she be banned from coming to Twickenham again? She reminded herself that “curiosity killed the cat.” In her mind, her grandmother’s voice finished the old adage, “But satisfaction brought him back.”

Still, Catherine needed to ask herself if the risk would be worth it. These balls had become the one bright spot in her life. If she were to lose them too . . .

Then the ever-present pull gave a stronger tug, the sense that there was something else going on and she must investigate. The American woman had said “they” were dead. Catherine was a doctor. Surely she had a responsibility to investigate.

Glancing to make sure she was alone, she picked up her skirts and began the climb. Winded by the time she reached the last landing before the fourth floor, she paused to catch her breath, vowing to start exercising regularly. Catherine had been blessed with a fast metabolism, so people were forever thinking she was fitter than she was.

She climbed the last flight. The hallway was unremarkable, lined with paintings. Listening for the sounds of movement, she examined the portraits as she went down the hallway. She heard nothing, and she didn’t smell blood.

One door stood open, so she let the tug lead her inside. The long room’s Gothic décor was typical of the rest of the house but held nothing but more paintings. How odd. There were a few chairs scattered around, but it didn’t look like it was meant to be a regular gathering place for people to sit together and talk.

Most of the pictures were busts of individuals, but in the center of the room hung a large painting of five people, three women and two men. Catherine blinked. It was the Americans, and their painted images wore the same clothing the five had on tonight. She shivered.

The young man she’d danced with hadn’t attended the Regency immersion vacation, having only arrived that day. When had someone had time to paint him? She’d also never heard that Twickenham had an artist on staff.

She studied the rest of the pictures in the room. Some were dressed in Regency clothing, but there were many others that spanned several eras. The one with the Americans was the only picture of such a large group. Whoever had arranged the paintings lacked any sense of design, leaving large sections of the walls empty.

That pull came again, as though Catherine had a string attached to her chest that drew her. This time it was to a portrait of a man placed to the right of the one with the Americans. Catherine came to stand before his painting, wondering who he was.

He appeared to be a little older than she was with a few silver strands at his temples. He also had what she’d call a regal bearing. She worked with enough surgeons and specialists who were used to being in charge, and this man had that look about him. He also wore an expression of someone with a fierce determination, the type of man people would steer clear of.

Catherine stepped closer to the painting. Behind the force of will that he projected, he had pain etched on his face. Her heart ached for him. What had happened to mark him that way?

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