It must have taken me forty minutes to get my bags up the stairs and into my room, by which time the arctic climate of the house felt like Hades. I surveyed my pile of bags on the floor and tried to imagine myself living in this room for an entire year.

The room, though freshly dusted and clearly clean, reminded me of one of those cheap hotels my parents used to take me two when we did cross-country road trips in my childhood. The decor really seemed like something out of an antique magazine. Nothing about the room felt like home. But where is that anymore?

Crossing the room from the bed to the window, I slid the yellow curtains open and pushed on the window. The wall let out a groan, and a draft brushed my hairs at the base of my neck, but the window did not open.

“Come on!” I said aloud, twisting what seemed to be the lock and shoving my shoulder into the window as hard as possible. Mercifully, it opened, but the warm sunshine I was used to was completely absent from the setting.

Right. England.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Perhaps a shower would be a welcome distraction.

It was not so much a welcome distraction as yet another icicle creating nightmare. I could not work all the funny knobs and nothing was where it should be. So, no matter how hard I tried, the water was ice cold. Was there away around that? Probably. But was I willing to go searching this whole house to find someone I could ask? Nope.

So instead, I stepped out of an ice-cold shower, wrapped myself in a ridiculously flimsy towel, and scurried my way down the hallway to my drafty room.

“Now, what do I wear?” I asked my pile of suitcases, allowing them to explode all over the floor when I slid the zippers open.

I was scouring the pile of clothes on the floor and searching for something to wear when I realized I had no idea what appropriate meant in this universe. What are you supposed to wear to dinner? I’m guessing jeans and a hoodie are out. Business Casual?

I took out my phone and scoured the internet for information. Of course, there was one tiny bar and absolutely no information for dress expectations unless one was dining with the queen. Something about the house and its distance from London made me think that option was unlikely. So I was again left to my own devices. I settled on a pair of black pants and a nice blouse and slipped my feet back into the flats I had designated for wearing indoors.

And just as I was checking my watch for the time, a clatter rang out above my window and a large scrape slid down my roof before a dark form flipped over itself and fell toward the ground, eventually settling in the bushes.

I pushed at the window, trying to get it open further. But when it would not budge, and the figure had not stirred, I pushed my way out into the hallway and flew down the stairs as fast as my feet could carry me, forgetting to put on a sweater before I burst out the door into the still damp air.

“Are you okay?” I shouted, running around the side of the house toward the bushes beneath my window. “I saw something fall off the roof and I—” Almost crashed right into a ladder leading up to the roof.

“Watch it, will you!” came the voice of a young man above. “I don’t need to follow my coat down to the garden.”

I instinctively jumped back from the ladder and looked up toward the man climbing down from the roof.

“Your coat?” I asked, the tension already falling out of my shoulders. “You mean no one fell?”

“No. Just my coat and a few tools.” He shrugged, stepping onto the ground from the bottom rung. “Is that why you came out here dressed for tea with the queen?”

“Do I look that bad?” I pulled my arms tighter around my middle.

“No,” he laughed. “You look fine. You don’t like a joke, do you?”

“I’m having trouble finding humour in the situation right now.” The truth slipped out my mouth.

“Oh, sorry. You must be Adelaide. I’m Ezrah Bellamy.” He stuck out his hand toward me. “I’m here fixing the roof.”

“Seems like you might be here a while,” I gestured toward the house and a shutter fell off one of its hinges. “I rest my case.”

His laugh echoed through the air and reached out his hand again, so I shook it.

“I’m here as long as your grandmother wants me here. I’m hoping that’s a while.”

“Well, it’s good to have a job, I guess. My grandmother seems like she provides a great deal of food.”

“That’s true,” he laughed. “But it’s not the only reason.”

Oh my God, he’s hitting on me.

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m expected inside for dinner.”

“It’s barely six o’clock.”

“Well, I need to get changed and put on appropriate dinner attire,” I reasoned before muttering under my breath, “whatever that is.”

“I could help you with that, if you want. I’ve been working here long enough to know what the old woman wears to dinner. A dress could work.”

I scanned him up and down. Is he trying to get me in trouble? I wondered. But it was highly unlikely that would gain him anything, so it was probably the hitting on me angle. Still, I could use some help with attire, so why not?

“Fine. What kind of dress?”

“A medium length one?” he said it like a question, but seeing the look on my face he added, “I don’t know much about dresses.”

“Sleeves?” I prodded, hoping he might be helpful.

“There should be some,” he chuckled. “But I have no idea beyond that.”

“You really can’t help me much, can you?” I rested my hands on my hips.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But I tried.”

I shook my head and turned toward the house. “Thanks for all your fabulous help!” I called over my shoulder. This is going to be a really long year.