The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) Read Online Free

what else to say, until the woman finally gave a nod and backed out of the room.
    “Sounds wonderful?” Cassandra repeated to herself. Is that something they would say? Think, Cassandra! Think before you speak, for God’s sake!
    She began to clean up as well as she could, as close to the fire as possible, and to dress in the warmest clothes she had brought. She had practiced getting in and out of the garments many times, and could manage it pretty well by now. Shannon designed both the inner and outer wear so that she could put it on without assistance, which was no small feat considering the complexity of the clothing that was worn by the upper class—and of course, it all must still appear completely authentic to anyone, such as a maid, who might come in contact with it. The gowns had flattering high waists and little need to be held in by girdles and corsets because the comfortable undergarments that Shannon had designed provided structure with stays and improved one’s posture and bust line.
    Cassandra finished dressing and turned to her hair. She had also practiced over and over winding it into a high pile of curls at the back of her head, using only the implements that would be available to her in 1820, and could do it quickly now. Just as she was finishing, Betsy appeared with the breakfast.
    “Oh! Right elegant you are, ma’am, such a beauty, my goodness!” she exclaimed.
    Cassandra blushed. “You are too kind, I am sure,” she replied, feeling it was the correct response. She followed Betsy to the writing desk.
    “Oh, not at all, ma’am, not at all,” Betsy replied, setting the tray down. Her breath wafted over Cassandra, who quickly turned her head from the odor. But then the maid moved away and the delicious smell of the breakfast prevailed. Cassandra looked it over: eggs and ham, rolls and butter, tea with thick cream and honey, oatmeal porridge with dried fruit, a large slice of pale yellow cheese. She would never be able to eat it all.
    “This looks delightful, Betsy, thank you.”
    “Will you be requiring anything else, ma’am?”
    “No! Thank you. This is plenty.”
    “My pleasure, ma’am.” The maid went out and closed the door.
    First things first, Cassandra thought. She went to her case to extract a bottle of pills. The tablets would serve to regulate her digestion and protect against parasites or food or water-borne bacteria. She could not afford to get seriously ill; she had no way to call the team for help. They had supplied her with as many prophylactic and first aid substances as possible, but she could only carry so much. She had five-hundred of the digestive aids, more than enough for one a day.
    In addition to protecting her digestive tract, she had certain dietary concerns. Mostly, she could eat anything, but she wasn’t used to caffeine, and the British tea was strong. Therefore, another tiny tablet, which she could carry with her and drop into her tea, would neutralize the effect of the stimulant. If someone wondered what she was putting in her cup, she would show the label, which read “Nerve Tablets for Ladies.”
    She also needed to be careful about her sugar intake. In 1820, fine pastries were made with the white sugar that her system was not used to handling. She had to be prepared to eat what was offered to her in the interest of politeness, but God knows she didn’t need any hysterical episodes brought on by a blood-sugar crash.
    Having fortified her system, she got set to explore the breakfast. The flavors were distinct and vivid, fresher than she’d ever tasted, though she was in the middle of London and people in her own world had access to the very freshest foods. The chickens were probably out in back of the inn laying the eggs, she thought. The ham was probably just recently smoked on a farm outside the city, the rolls baked moments ago in the inn’s oven, the cream delivered every day from some nearby dairy farm, the tea, black as could be and thrillingly