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Part 1

He was wandering the woods around his hunting lodge and saw white fabric billowing in the breeze in the distance. He came to a small clearing and discovered the fabric to be a nightdress of a young woman soundly sleeping on the grass. He blinked several times but there she remained lying on her side with her hands tucked under her head and her legs curled up close to her body with the fullness of her nightdress fluttering behind her. He thought he'd seen everything in his thirty-two years but this was truly a new experience. Who could she be and how could she have gotten there? And why is she sleeping in the bright sunshine? So many questions entered his mind. Well, he thought, the only way to get answers is to ask the questions. He knelt down by her. She looked quite lovely and he found himself hesitant to disturb her dreams which must be quite pleasant to judge from her smile.
"Miss?" he said.
There was no response. It wouldn't really be proper to touch her but then this seemed a situation outside of anything proper already. He touched her shoulder to give her a gentle shake and noticed the fineness of the fabric although he wasn't sure just what the material was.
"Must I get up? I'm having such a wonderful dream," she spoke without opening her eyes. The voice was sweet but oddly accented.
"Miss?" he tried again although with an accompanying touch.
This time her eyes flew open. His first thought was that they were as rich a brown as the long braid that draped over her shoulder. She smiled broadly.
"Oh my! I'm still dreaming with my eyes wide open!" she said.
He laughed. "I don't think anyone would consider me a part of their dreams."
She blinked several times as he had earlier. She turned onto her back, sat up, drew her knees up and put her arms around them. She looked all around her and he noticed the smile slipping away. She rested her forehead on her knees and he could tell she took several deep breaths. She had noted his accent and his clothing. He looked like he stepped off the cover of one of her historical romance novels. Was this all a dream?
When she finally looked at him again, she asked softly, almost to herself, "This is England? How did I get here?"
He thought he detected confusion and fear in those eyes now. "Yes, it is England. I do not know how you came to be here. I'm Nicholas St. James."
She thought he'd been about to say more but had stopped himself. After a few moments he prompted her, "And you are?"
"I am unsure," she said. That is putting it mildly, she thought to herself.
"You seem to have appeared out of thin air," he said looking at her for an explanation.
"So it would appear," she agreed.
"You don't appear to have a valise," he stated.
"I don't appear to have anything at all," she said in a quiet voice that touched his heart.
"Here," he said reaching out his hand. "Let me help you up."
She took his hand and rose to her feet. She was taller than most women of his acquaintance but being a shade over six feet himself he found her height appealing, as were the womanly curves so easily seen as the breeze molded the thin material of her gown to her body.
"Might I invite you for a bit of luncheon?" he asked. "My lodge is just past that copse of pine trees."
"Thank you," she answered. "I am feeling a little hungry."

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Part 2

Walking past a window of the house, she chanced a look at her reflection and gave a sigh of relief. She was still herself! She thought it most likely as she recognized her nightgown and braid as what she'd expected. It might have been a fanciful notion that she'd somehow traded bodies with someone; but then traveling through space and time was a crazy notion too. Yet, that must be what happened. The housekeeper had looked askance at her when her host had described her as someone he'd found who must have had an accident and that she would be staying for luncheon. Somehow she wasn't surprised to hear a "my lord" from the woman even though he'd not introduced himself with a title.
He found her a robe to wear before they had the light meal. They ate in relative silence; each of them occupied with their quiet thoughts.
He thought her his very own wood nymph. The night dress felt like fine lawn but not quite. It was amazingly free of wrinkles. The stitches were very fine as well although the style seemed a little unusual. Where had she sprung from? Her speech as well as her question were clear indications England was not her home country.
Her thoughts ran along similar lines. How did I get here? I can't seem to recall what I had been doing before I awoke here. Except that it was in Canada and nearly two hundred years from where I am now! She would have to use a mixture of truth and evasion as she'd never been good at lying but certainly could not tell him the full truth.
Once they were sitting in the study after the meal, each spoke at once.
"We need find you some clothes," he said.
"I'm feeling a bit less confused now," she said.
Both waited for the other to continue.
"Please, go on" he said.
"That's okay. You can go first," she said, adding belatedly, "My lord."
He grinned at what was, obviously, an unusual phrase for her to use.
"I'd prefer if you just called me Nick," he said. "These are unusual circumstances. Please tell me what you were about to say. My plans for clothes can wait."
"Thank you," she said. "Nick will be easier to use. And you may call me Sylvia."
He smiled broadly. She thought his eyes even smiled as he took her hand and placed a kiss over it saying, "Pleased to meet you Sylvia."
"Why are you grinning like the Cheshire Cat?" she asked.
"Who?" he asked puzzled.
Yikes! she thought. I best watch what I say more carefully. "It's just an expression where I come from for a very large grin," she replied.
"Which is?" he prompted.
"Canada," she replied. "Now why were you nearly laughing at my name?"
She was glad to see the smile return.
"Sylvia is Latin for "from the forest" and I had thought you a wood nymph," he said still grinning.
Sylvia laughed. "Aren't nymphs tiny creatures? I really don't think I qualify."
"You are smaller than I," he responded.
"In height, this is true," she conceded.
"Sylvia, from Canada, do you have a last name?" he prodded.
She laughed again and he found he enjoyed the sight and sound very much.
"Oh my," she said getting her merriment under control. "You probably will not believe me!"
"You will have to just tell me and see if I do," he said.
"Alright. Just remember you asked for it. My last name is..." She paused.
"Yes?"
"Woods!" she exclaimed before giggling overtook her.

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Part 3

Sylvia slowly got herself under control and wiped her wet eyes. "Oh. I can't recall the last time I giggled like that. I will behave myself now," she declared. "What were you going to say about clothes?"
"I found your behavior delightful," he said. "As to the clothes, I was thinking to write a good friend. His sister is much the same size as you. Perhaps a couple of inches shorter. I thought he might bring some of her clothes for you."
"How will you explain that I have none or that I am here?" she asked.
"The truth," he replied.
"The truth?" she asked.
"Yes." He smiled and continued, "That I found a wood nymph."
She laughed before saying, "You wouldn't! Would you?"
"Of course I would," Nick replied. "Peter and I go back to the cradle together. He'd know if I told anything but the truth."
He walked to the desk saying, "Come. I'll trace your foot to send that he can look for a pair of slippers for you."
"These feet," she said walking over to the desk, "are anything but dainty. I am not confident he will find anything."
"We will not know if we do not ask," he said as he placed a sheet of paper on the floor.
"This is true," she agreed.
Sylvia placed her foot on the paper to be traced and lifted the robe and gown to mid-calf. Nick knelt and drew around her foot. His head brushed against her shins and he realized that it might have been better if he'd asked her to make the drawing. He sat back on his heels when he finished with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
"I'll just get the missive written up and sent on it's way then," Nick said when he felt he could speak calmly. "Would you like to rest?"
"Thank you but I really do not feel tired," said Sylvia. "Might you have something I could read?"
"There must be something here," Nick replied. "Would you care for poetry or, perhaps, a novel?"
"My first choice," replied Sylvia, "would be a newspaper if there is one."
"Alright but it is at least a week old," he said. "They take a while to get here from London."
"That's fine," replied Sylvia. She hoped to find something to help orientate her. She still couldn't recall her last moments before arriving here but was glad of her fondness for old-fashioned nightwear. It wasn't the style of this time but it was long with smocking around the neckline and only slipped over the head with no zippers or velcro or other modern touches.
Nick had gone to get the newspaper for her. She sat in a wing chair to read by the fireplace as he went to his desk to pen the letter.
He had come here to deal with his grief over losing his older brother. He had never expected to inherit the title and estate. His sister-in-law needed time to adjust as well and to move with his niece to the dower house. The estate managers could deal with the business end of things for a while. In the week that he had been here he'd not started to feel the least bit better. Until today. Today he had smiled and laughed.
Nick couldn't help smiling as he wrote his friend. Peter was going to think he had lost his sanity. Perhaps he had. If that was the case he really couldn't bring himself to regret the loss.
When he had sealed the letter, Nick rose. "I'll just give this to my groom to deliver," he told Sylvia.
"How long do you think it will take to hear from him?" Sylvia inquired.
"Normally, I'd say seven or eight days," he said. There was that wonderful smile again. "But I think his curiosity will have him pushing to get here in five."

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Part 4

Three days later, in a bedchamber of a well-appointed home in London, a young gentlemen was going through a lady's wardrobe franticly pulling out gowns trying to recall when he'd last seen the owner wear them and pleading, "Please help me, Mary," he said to the maid standing by wide-eyed and still. "Surely you know of some gowns your mistress is unlikely to miss."
"Peter!" exclaimed a young woman entering the room. "What are you doing?"
"A favour for Nick," he said.
"Nick needs my older gowns?" she asked.
Peter pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. "Read for yourself, Thalia. You shall never believe otherwise."
Peter waited while his sister read the missive he had received.
Thalia smiled as she read. When she was finished she looked at her brother. "He found a wood nymph with naught but a nightrail to her name! Fascinating!" she exclaimed.
"Or he has lost his mind," said Peter. "Whatever the case may be I need to get to him to see."
"Yes, we must hurry," agreed Thalia.
"Oh no, Thalia," said Peter. "You are not going with me."
"Mary, please get someone to bring in a couple of trunks for us to pack," Thalia told the maid that was witnessing this scene between the brother and sister. "Now dear brother, do not argue with me!"
"But, Thalia," Peter interjected.
"Hear me out, Peter," Thalia said. "First, I, too, am concerned for Nick. We three grew up together and he is like another brother to me."
"I do know that, Thalia. Still," said Peter.
"I am not finished, Peter," said Thalia. "If there is a young lady involved, she could never come to town with either of you and have a proper reputation. I am needed."
"I suppose you are right on that," Peter conceded. "But Grenfield will have my hide if you accompany me."
Thalia laughed. "I think my husband more likely to pity you for having to deal with me. Here come the trunks. Let me see the foot tracing."
Peter gave her the paper which she placed on the floor to step on and compare to her own foot.
"My footwear will not do," she said looking down. "Her foot is just enough bigger than mine that anything I have would squeeze her feet."
Peter looked at his sister's foot on the tracing before she removed her foot and he bent to retrieve the drawing.
"While Mary and I pack the trunks," Thalia said,"Go look for slippers and half-boots for her. By the time you return we should be ready to leave."
"I will leave you to it then," said Peter.

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Part 5

In the meantime back at the hunting lodge, Sylvia was learning much and enjoying her time with Nick. He had taught her to play chess and whist. She read the papers to find out more about where, or more precisely, when, she was. She was trying to watch what she said to be sure she didn't refer to things beyond this time. She also spent much time thinking; trying hard to recall what had happened before she awoke here. Since her hair was braided as was her habit at night to keep the snarls in her long hair to a minimum, and she was wearing her favourite nightgown, she must have gotten ready for bed. But she didn't remember actually doing it. Would whatever brought her here whisk her back? The uncertainty made deciding what to do difficult. But then she wasn't sure whether she wished to return or stay. There was much to recommend this time and she had always been fascinated by it. She was thankful she hadn't been cast into the role of a servant though. And she greatly missed some of the trappings of modern life with plumbing ranking at the top of her list. At the top of her "reasons to stay list" was Nick. He was a sweet, kind, caring gentleman unlike any one she'd met in her own time. She was sure if she was not careful she could fall in love with him. She would be careful, just in case, she was pulled back to her own time.
Nick had much to think on, too. Sylvia was very different from most young women he met. On the one hand she seemed to be very unaware of some of the most basic things but he also noted intelligence and she was quick to learn. At times she said things he could not understand. She'd note his puzzled look and say it was something they said where she came from. He wondered about that place and if she would wish to return once her memory was fully restored. He hoped not. She had brought such brightness into his dark world that he did not know what he would do if she were to leave. Could he be falling in love with her?. It was something he had never experienced before. Certainly there were women he had liked. He would even go so far as to say his feelings for Peter's sister, Thalia, who had trailed behind him and Peter through many of their childhood adventures, were a form of love. There had been, as well, more than a few women who had stirred desire in him. No woman before Sylvia, though, had evoked the range of feelings she did. He felt protective and possessive of her. He enjoyed all their times together; walking on the grounds, talking on all manner of things, laughing together, sitting in companionable silence. He also had some very ungentlemanly thoughts about her and those were increasing in frequency and intensity. If only they could resolve the uncertainty about who she was and where she belonged.
Nick and Sylvia were just about to have tea when they heard the carriage approaching the lodge. Nick looked out the window.
"It's Peter!" he said. "Six days. Not bad time. Shall we go meet him?"
"Um," said Sylvia, "dressed like this?" She looked down at his burgundy robe which covered her nightgown. The two garments had become her daywear with a borrowed nightshirt of his becoming her nightwear.
"Yes!" exclaimed Nick. "You are fine and he already knows about your clothing."
"You mean lack of clothing," said Sylvia.
By the time Nick and Sylvia were out the door, a young man had descended from the carriage but had turned to offer a hand to help a young woman to alight from the carriage and then a second, older woman. The older, more plainly dressed woman stayed by the carriage. The taller, elegantly dressed young woman accompanied the man forward.

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