It was past midnight on the night of May 18, 1536, and Anne Boleyn couldn't sleep. She knew that she was going to die the next day, and while she feared the pain of the sword slicing through her neck, her sorrow over having to leave the life she loved was greater even than the fear. The knowledge that she wouldn't be around to see her two-year-old daughter Elizabeth grow up broke her heart.
At least I'll be with George again, she told herself. Her beloved brother had been beheaded only yesterday, and she still couldn't quite believe that she'd never hear his voice or look into his eyes again.
She must have finally dozed off at some point, because when she opened her eyes, she saw that she was no longer in the Tower. Instead she was in a completely unfamiliar room, one which was small but lavishly decorated. Despite its grandeur, it appeared to be a servant's quarters rather than those of royalty. It also looked distinctly French, yet somehow different from the French court she'd lived in when she'd been younger. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about the style and decoration of the furnishings seemed...if she had to describe them in one word, that word would be futuristic.
As she grabbed a brush from the dresser and began to run it through her long, dark hair, she heard a rustling, a suppressed giggle, from the hallway. Curious, she opened the door to see three fresh-faced young women, who immediately stopped their chattering to gawk at her. As startled as they were, Anne stared back without saying anything.
"You must be the new lady-in-waiting," one of the three ventured, in French.
So I was right, Anne told herself. As badly as she wanted to protest that she was a Queen, not a servant, she deemed it wiser to learn more about the new situation she was in first.
"My name is Anne," she told the three young women.
"I'm Giselle," said the woman who'd spoken. "And this is Pauline and Desiree."
"Pleased to meet you, Anne." Pauline and Desiree curtsied. Anne nodded her acknowledgement.
"We must hurry," Pauline said. "The Queen is surely up by now."
"Queen Eleanor of Austria?" Anne ventured.
The other three women just stared at her in surprise.
"No, Queen Marie Antoinette of Austria," Desiree finally told her.
"What year is this?" Anne felt totally bewildered.
"Why, it's 1780," Giselle told her.
So it really is true, Anne told herself. I've traveled across not only space but time as well.
Soon the four women reached the bedchambers of Queen Marie Antoinette. Anne had to gasp at their opulence and splendor. Not even her own bedchambers during her marriage to King Henry VIII had been as richly furnished.
The Queen herself was a very attractive woman, with a round face, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very fair complexion.
"Please hurry up and get me ready," she said crossly to the ladies in waiting. "I'm meeting Count von Fersen for lunch today. You," she said suddenly to Anne. "Procure a basin for me to soak my feet in."
"They're at the other end of this hallway," Pauline whispered to Anne.
Biting back a retort, Anne was on her way to the closet where the basins were stored when she almost ran right smack into him.
Although not handsome in the traditional way, he had an air about him which Anne found fascinating. He had the darkest brown eyes she'd ever seen, as dark as her own, in fact.
"I'm so sorry, monsieur," she said, blushing fiercely.
"It's quite all right, mademoiselle." He sounded kind, perhaps a little shy, and when he smiled at her, she felt a pleasant warmth inside.