The Veil of Time

The Veil of Time The Ladies of the LabyrinthBook 2 Hope Carolle © Copyright 2023 by Hope Carolle Text by Hope Carolle Cover by Dar Albert Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc. P.O. Box 23 Moreno Valley, CA 92556 [email protected] Produced in the United States of America First Edition April 2023 Kindle Edition Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited. All Rights Reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. 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Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way. Happy Reading! CEO, Dragonblade Publishing Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hope Carolle The Ladies of the Labyrinth Series The Veil Between Worlds (Book 1) The Veil of Time (Book 2) The Season of the Veil (Book 3) Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Publisher’s Note Additional Dragonblade books by Author Hope Carolle Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Epilogue About the Author Chapter One “Try to go just a day Gabriella, without your mobile. You’re constantly checking it. I’d love to see you with your sketchbook instead, using your astute powers of observation we all know and love.” Mummy gestured to the wider world over her shoulder. “You might see something wonderful you otherwise might miss.” She tasked me with a rather tall order. Go without my mobile? Wretched idea. What if one of my friends texted and I didn’t send a return for 24 hours? They’d immediately ring the police. What if a piece of breaking news happened, and I was the last to know? And more importantly, what if Albert called, texted, or tagged me on a post? Yes, it’d been two—no, three years—but you never know, he might pop up out of the blue. You hear stories like that all the time, don’t you? Love rekindled, reconciled after both parties realize what an absolute absurd reason had been used to break up. So, I ran over the man’s toe once. It was an accident. He said I did it on purpose, but he knows I would never hurt him, even in a heated moment. “Really, I insist upon it. I’ll turn it off,” Mummy said, gently reaching across the table, taking up my mobile in her elegantly manicured hand, and then placing it discreetly in her handbag. “There now, that wasn’t too terribly difficult?” “Mum, honestly. This is beyond the pale.” I stood up to my full height, reaching across the table, to protest, perhaps even to intimidate. No, not really, but for a woman I’m unappetizingly tall. Model height, if I had a model’s body, but no; I like my food, thank you very much. Can’t sustain me on a celery smoothie and a kale salad with a one-ounce portion of grilled salmon on the side. I’d murder someone out of pure hanger. “Do sit down, Gabriella. You’ll make a scene.” Mummy and I were treating ourselves to afternoon tea at Fortnum and Mason’s. The cost these days was exorbitant, but Mum, otherwise known as Georgianna, the Countess of Swiffingford, every once in a while, and as a thanks for her patronage, would have her bills waived. It was a huge privilege of which we didn’t often take advantage. Though only 59th in line to the throne, making me 60th, the countess was welcome even as a distant member of the royal family and patron. Known for her extraordinary sense of style—today, for instance, she was dressed in a Hermes scarf mixed with Gucci sneakers, a quilted vest, a layered necklace, a smart jumper, and a pair of dark jeans. She was slim but not too slim, hair in a silver bob, her blue eyes intense, and her dark eyelashes a long fringe. She looked wealthy but everything designer she’d found at thrift stores, online or bricks and mortar, or handed down to her through friends. I sank back into my chair. No, of course I would never make a scene at Fortnum & Mason’s. I was brought up properly. My mother always seemed to know what to do with herself, and how to look, so brilliantly, at all times. I completely idolized her. Mummy had raised me alone when she became a widow at an early age, taking sole responsibility for me: earning a living, fulfilling