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  A Lesson in Presumption

  Jennifer Connors

  A Lesson in Presumption

  Published by J Connors Publishing, LLC

  Gilbert, Arizona

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Connors

  Cover design by Darren Connors

  ISBN 978-0-9824655-4-7

  www.jenniferconnors.com

  This book is dedicated to my parents. Obviously, my writing career would be non-existent if you had stopped at two.

  Chapter 1

  When it came to waking up from her past lives, Ginny was becoming an expert. Having left her own body in the 21st century, she had now lived four romance heroine lives. After what might have been a bad accident while driving with her best friend Lisa, Ginny had woken to find herself in someone else's body... again.

  First, she awoke to find herself slumped over a horse's behind, being brought to a medieval keep full of smelly Lowlanders. In her next experience, she woke up in a small carriage, in Regency England, heading toward a house party to pick a husband. Then came Colby in Wyoming and Oliver in England.

  After only a moment, she was gone from her husband Oliver's arms, to wake up suddenly in somebody's drawing room. Not so bad, except for the yelling. Ginny tried to comprehend the situation, so she could fake whatever she had to in order to appear normal.

  Turning her head, Ginny noticed a man and a woman, standing near the doorway. Both appeared to be servants, with the woman sobbing quietly.

  I'm obviously not dead? she thought as she continued her survey of the room. Why the hell is she crying?

  Ginny realized that she was on the floor, so she slowly picked herself up. Once standing fully, it was only a second before she was on the floor again. The blow seemed to come from nowhere, but landed on its mark, her head.

  On her knees again, Ginny could hear only the ringing in her ears. The stars were dissipating from her eyes, but her vision was still tunneled. Okay, someone just hit me, she realized. With that realization came the anger. Who the hell hit me, goddammit!

  With the anger, came a survival instinct. Ginny quickly ignored all else and crawled away from her attacker, which was difficult in her long skirt and many layers. She picked herself up and turned to see a middle-aged man, unsteady on his feet, staring daggers at her from across the room.

  “You, bitch,” the man slurred. “You think you can run from me?”

  Holding up her hands in supplication, Ginny spoke as calmly as she could under the circumstances. “Listen, I don't know what's going on, but maybe we can talk about it.”

  “Whore! When I get my hands on you...” The man started forward, but Ginny was quicker and much more nimble. It helped that she wasn't extremely inebriated. She managed to keep a piece of furniture between them at all times. While it kept her from getting smacked upside her head again, it only served to make the man more angry.

  “Keep still, you bitch. Take what's coming to ya!”

  Ginny glanced at the two servants standing near the doorway, begging for help with her eyes. The man looked up at the ceiling and the woman cried even harder. Great, she thought as she continued to evade her attacker. They're just going to stand there and let him have at me.

  In the instant her attention was turned toward the servants, the man grabbed Ginny's left arm over the settee. Twisting it painfully, Ginny reacted the only way she could. Using her right fist, she came around and hit the man in his left arm. The move was pathetic, but served to unsettle her attacker enough that he loosened his grip so she could wriggle free.

  Ginny was fairly certain that the person she now possessed would never dream of fighting back. This man before her, in all his drunken anger, probably often took his rage out on not just her, but the servants as well. Thus the reason for the two servants acting as if she no longer existed, which if she wasn't careful, might actually become reality.

  To hell with this, Ginny thought as she maneuvered herself so the couch remained between her and her attacker. Not wanting to incite him any further, Ginny made her way toward the door. If she could get out, walk away, maybe he would pass out and wake up more reasonable. Mostly, she didn't want to get hit again.

  “If ya know what is good for you, you will come to me RIGHT NOW!”

  Ginny flinched at his yelled command. Feeling the blush work up her face, her temper began to take hold. Whoever this poor woman was, she was a victim. Ginny refused to be a victim, not in her real life and certainly not here.

  “If you want me so badly, you'll have to catch me.” Her voice was low and menacing, her eyes squinted in challenge as her attacker began to recognize her insolence.

  Growling low in his throat, the man moved quickly around the piece of furniture that was Ginny's only protection. Before he could reach his goal, she skirted out of the way and made a run for the door. Anticipating her action, the man changed direction to head her off.

  Barely avoiding his outstretched hand, Ginny dodged a small table and was nearly out the doorway when she heard him crashing behind her. Turning to see what had happened, the man was lying face down on the floor, not moving.

  Is this a trick? she wondered, moving slightly closer toward the man.

  “What have you done, my lady?” the male servant asked, quickly rushing to his master's side.

  The female servant began to wail, falling to the floor and closing herself into a ball. In addition to the sound of her cries, she moved as if shaking in the wind.

  Ginny noticed that the small table she'd dodged, in her attempt to escape, was now lying on its side on the floor. Obviously, her attacker had caught the leg, and it toppled his inebriated butt down. What she failed to notice immediately was that his head caught the side corner of a large buffet table.

  “Lord Gammage, are you alright?” The servant continued to shake the drunken man to no avail.

  As Ginny stepped closer, she noticed the large pool of blood that seeped in a slow progression from the man's head. Kneeling on his other side, opposite the servant, Ginny felt sick. Hopefully he only opened a gash, that was now bleeding freely on the expensive looking carpet of the drawing room.

  Crap on a stick, she grimaced. This is probably going to be bad.

  Reaching out with her hand, placing her fingers gingerly on his neck, Ginny bowed her head.

  The servant, watching her every move, asked, “Will he be well, my lady?”

  Raising her head, staring at the man who only watched as she was being attacked, she answered, “He's already dead.”

  The only sound after that was the keening wails of the female servant, still huddled in a ball in the corner of the room.

  ********

  The next few hours were a flurry of excitement. The male servant summoned several footmen to carry the body to the dining room and place him on the table. Meanwhile, parlor maids went about cleaning up the blood on the carpet.

  One footman was sent to Lord Gammage's family to notify them of his death, while another was sent to the constable. Ginny was escorted to a small sitting room in the rear of the house. Her personal maid, a woman Ginny couldn't have picked out of a line-up, sat by her, patting her hand and making several attempts to forc
e feed her a cup of tea.

  Waiting patiently for the memories to hit her, as they had in most of her other adventures, Ginny took in the scene. The room was filled with late afternoon sunlight. The furniture was limited, but comfortable, with only a settee and two overstuffed chairs. The only other furnishings in the room were a couple of small tables and the fireplace.

  “All will be well, my lady,” the young maid stated, trying to sound reassuring, but coming off as terrified.

  “Of course it will,” Ginny replied with a small smile that she was sure made her look creepy. She definitely felt creepy. Although she wouldn't take responsibility for the man's death, that didn't mean she didn't feel badly about it. Lord Gammage seemed drunk, but maybe he was diabetic or had some other condition that would render him disoriented and violent. Regardless, Ginny wasn't about to be his punching bag.

  Quiet settled back into the room, but wouldn't last. The door to the sitting room was open, so they could hear when the front door burst open.

  “Where is he?” a woman screamed as she entered the residence.

  Ginny felt her maid stiffen beside her and bow her head. Wondering what was going on, she reached over to grab the maid's hand. When the young girl lifted her head again, Ginny saw the fear on her face and the tears on her cheeks.

  Uh-oh, she thought, taking in the terror. This is definitely not going to be good for me.

  A moment later, Ginny heard the cries coming from the dining room. The woman, whoever she was, sounded like a wounded animal, keening and wailing. The weeping was occasionally broken by words like, “Why him?” and “Dear God, why my son?”

  Well, that explains who the woman is. Ginny now realized why she was in so much trouble. Not knowing the exact year, she could tell the approximate time period. Apparently, she was about to deal with the dowager head of her husband's family. Judging by the hysterics, it would not be a pleasant meeting.

  Not that it should be, considering that the woman had just lost her son. But, sitting in the pit of Ginny's stomach, was a feeling, a premonition perhaps, of how she would be blamed for the death. If she were convicted of killing a peer of the realm, that could mean only one thing: hanging.

  Ginny's only consolation was that she was the heroine of this damn novel and generally speaking, heroine's were not hanged. However, her luck was maybe fifty-fifty, so she had better start coming up with her defense now, to avoid being fitted with a noose around her neck.

  ********

  “Where is she?” screamed the voice from the dining room.

  Ginny listened to quiet whispers from someone else and then heard the stomping footsteps of a woman possessed. Steeling herself for the obvious confrontation, Ginny stood and turned toward the doorway. She had hoped to have some idea of who she was, other than the fact that she was Lady Gammage, before she needed to confront her in-laws.

  The dowager Lady Gammage was nothing that Ginny had expected. She stood no taller than five feet, with bright silver hair and a long, crone's nose. With a tall, black hat and a broomstick, the woman would have made the perfect witch. Deep creases around her eyes and mouth told Ginny she rarely smiled and her dark eyes, that appeared almost black, were beady and off-putting.

  Hiding the shudder she felt at the look the woman gave her, Ginny remained quiet. She didn't have enough information to converse on any topic about her family, let alone try to start the conversation over her dead husband. Something inside Ginny told her that keeping her mouth shut would be best for everyone.

  “What did you do to him?” the woman hissed at her.

  Straightening her shoulders, returning the woman's gaze despite her uneasiness, Ginny replied, “Your son tripped over a table and hit his head...”

  Before she could finish, the woman screamed, “Lies! You killed him, didn't you? You never appreciated all he gave you, you ungrateful wretch!”

  Taking a deep breath, Ginny now knew where her husband got his personality from. With each passing minute, without any memories for confirmation, Ginny was less sorry for the passing of her husband.

  “Madam, that is incorrect. I was moving away from him so he would not hit me again. He was too drunk to avoid the table...”

  “My son never over indulged... EVER!” The woman was turning an unpleasant shade of red and Ginny was certain that if she were to die right now, that too would be blamed on her.

  “Please sit down before you pass out.”

  “Insolence! You will address me properly. I am still the head of this family and you will bow to my will, you selfish twit.”

  Rolling her eyes, returning to her seat on the settee, Ginny wondered if this woman only had one tone of voice: loud. Her mother-in-law was shrill and annoying and probably going to make her next few months a living hell. Not so shocking, she thought disparagingly. Just more of the usual for me!

  Standing in the doorway, the old crone continued her tirade, “You will pay for this. I will see you hang. If you think for one moment that you can kill my son, MY SON, and get away with it, you have another thing coming!”

  As if in answer to her mother-in-law's prayers, a knock at the door brought the local constable.

  Chapter 2

  The dowager demanded that Ginny stay put in the sitting room, while she went to discuss the situation with the constable. To make her point, she forced two footmen to stand guard at the door to keep her from following. The footmen, big, burly types, kept their backs to Ginny, standing on each side of the doorway like statues.

  “Oh, how I fear for you, my lady,” the maid stated.

  “I didn't kill him, although I get the feeling that the old crone will convince people otherwise.”

  At the mention of “old crone,” her maid gasped. “You had better hold that tongue, my lady. It will bring you more trouble than it would be worth.”

  Ginny couldn't deny that her mouth had gotten her in trouble before, even in her real life as a 21st century physician's assistant. She remembered a time when she told a patient that her diabetes was not related to some genetic abnormality, but to her being overweight and eating only fast food. The woman did not take the information well. Sometimes, honesty is not the best policy.

  “I need to speak to the constable, before my mother-in-law pollutes his mind.” Ginny was fairly certain she could get past one footman, but two? Doubtful.

  “I will go and find out what is going on. The footmen have no reason to hold me here.” Ginny was beginning to like her personal maid. Now, if she could only remember her name.

  “Good idea. Thank you.” Ginny was sincere and the maid seemed uncomfortable. It never ceased to amaze Ginny how people could believe that because of their birth, they were somehow less worthy than others.

  Scurrying to do her bidding, the maid was gone and Ginny was left alone. Leaning heavily on the back of the settee, a new feeling settled over her like a wool blanket in winter. Her limbs felt heavy and Ginny suddenly felt the enormous weight of her situation.

  How many lives would she have to live to get home? This was now the fifth, with the others taking well over a year of her life. Did her real life continue? Had she been lying in some coma for a year and a half while she played romance heroine? Or did time have no meaning while she played in other people's fictional lives.

  Suddenly overwhelmed, tears filled Ginny's eyes. A choking feeling came over her, like she was about to sob big, fat tears. She took deep breaths, trying to stave off the worst of it, knowing that it would only make her look guiltier should the constable come to finally question her.

  She stood up and moved to the window. Feeling sorry for herself would not help her if she was trying to avoid a capital sentence. Looking out at the beautifully tended garden, the memories finally returned. In only a few seconds, Ginny knew who she was and why she handled the situation completely wrong with her now dead husband.

  ********

  The year was 1775 and Lady Corliss Gammage was a mere twenty years old. She had married the earl a little ov
er a year earlier, after her second season. Her family was pleased with the match, being the daughter of the Earl and Countess Bathurst, she had maintained her place in English society.

  Her recently deceased husband, Lord Gammage, had wooed her from almost the moment he saw her. Ginny was not surprised since she was considered a beauty among the ton. After all, this was yet another romance novel life she would be living, and heroines were not ugly. She remembered her popularity, as she was often envied by her peers. Many men vied for her attention, but Lady Corliss would not consider anyone not of her station.

  The person Ginny now possessed had been every bit haughty and snobbish, exactly the type of person Ginny herself would have hated. Although it would never cross her own mind, Lady Corliss had no real friends, only those who wished to be around her because of her beauty and connections.