When the husband of a noblewoman died, she went into mourning for a year and a day.

The first six months were particularly difficult. She could only wear black, and must refrain from attending social functions. After six months, the widow entered a period of half mourning. Gowns of violet, gray, brown, and lavender were acceptable to wear. Overtime, she could reenter society by accepting invitations to social events, but she should not seem overeager about it. Don’t bother considering remarriage until the year was over, either—it was all but forbidden.

Of course, a noblewoman who recently lost her husband didn’t have to go into mourning for a full year. It was only customary, not written into the law. However, tongues would wag if she didn't. And there was nothing more dangerous to a woman’s reputation than untoward gossip.

Most noblewomen would be devastated if ever faced with such a terrible situation. Not only had they lost their husband, but now they must sequester themselves from the rest of society for months on end. They might as well have been handed a prison sentence.

I, on the other hand, considered my husband’s death a blessing.

I felt somewhat guilty for feeling that way. It wasn’t like I held a grudge against the man, after all. If my memories could be relied on, he had been a decent enough husband. Absent, for the most part, yet still decent. But seeing as I’d been transmigrated into a web novel, it was for the best that I didn’t have ‘perform wifely duties’ on top of everything else I must contend with.

As a matter of fact, Lord Daniel Haywood had been dead for less than a week when I first awoke to a room that was not my own. The lady’s maid who had knocked on my door hadn’t been troubled in the slightest by how shell-shocked I must have appeared. Instead, she had bowed her head before asking if I would like to take a bath before breakfast, or if my lady would rather sleep in for an hour longer.

At a loss for what else to do, I agreed to the bath.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring into thin air, as footmen hauled a copper bathtub into the room. The lady’s maid set up a privacy screen before directing the other servants to pour hot water into the tub. She tested it with her finger; once she was satisfied, she herded the others outside so she could help me out of my shift and into the tub. She looked ready to assist me with my bath, but I told her that I’d like to be alone. That brought her up short.

She asked if I was sure. When I nodded firmly, she informed me that she would return in half an hour, then she left.

Awareness came by degrees. For some time, all I did was stare into the middle distance. Then I forced myself to properly take a bath. Maybe washing up would hurry this strange dream along. But as I sat back in an effort to get comfortable, I happened to glance down. To my shock, it wasn’t my own reflection staring back at me; it was a total stranger.

The woman had pink hair the colour of cotton candy, the ends sodden with water and clinging to her shoulders. Even her eyebrows and eyelashes were dyed a similar shade of pink. Her pale skin looked wan, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She must be wearing colour contacts, because her irises were an arresting shade of gold.

Of two things I was certain.

One: this woman was gorgeous, even though it seemed like she hadn't been getting enough sleep lately.

Two: I had no idea who she was, or what she was doing in the bath with me!

I nearly leapt out of the tub in fright. I froze when the strange woman went to do the same. I sat back down. The woman also moved back.

That was when a startling idea began to form in my mind. It couldn’t be true, though. There was no way. But maybe, since I must be in a dream…

I raised my hand. The woman raised her hand too. I touched my face. As did the woman. I nearly flinched upon registering the touch. The skin of my cheek was unblemished and as soft as silk—far softer than it had ever felt, honestly.

I swore loudly, the woman’s lips moving as mine did. As the words reverberated off the walls, I noticed for the first time that it wasn’t my voice that left my throat. It had never sounded so airy or lilting before—especially not when I was cursing like a sailor.

It was true, then. My body was not my own. The woman in the water was me.

It was like that revelation broke a dam that I hadn’t realized existed in my head.

As I continued to soak in the rapidly cooling water, memories, experiences, and past thoughts began to enter my mind, one after the other. They emerged so quickly that I scrambled to keep up with them all. I clung to the sides of the tub with the desperation of a dinghy trying to anchor itself against a terrible storm.

In my mind’s eye, I saw me—well, this me. She was a child, then a young girl, then a woman grown. She was the daughter of a baron and had gone on to marry the son of her father’s friend, only to become widowed a year later. Currently, she was living in her deceased husband’s estate, but she’d need to vacate it soon. The arrangements for her to move into the dowager house would be made by the next Lord Haywood, Daniel’s male cousin, as she and her husband had yet to have any children. And never would.

Lady Caroline Haywood’s life hadn’t been glamorous, and was occasionally filled with some strife or difficulty, but she was still a member of the peerage. That blessed her with freedoms that women from lesser means weren’t afforded. For most of her life, she had been content with this state of affairs.

Now, I was her. Or she was me. I didn’t know which was more accurate, or if it even mattered. It didn’t change the reality of my situation, as absurd as it seemed.

But what of my life? The one I had before I came to wherever this was?

I didn’t have to wait long for my mind to provide an answer.

I recalled the squealing of tires, the crunching of metal, the shattering of glass, the screams… I squeezed my eyes shut and clapped my hands over my ears, but it didn’t keep the dreadful memory at bay.

I was dead—or had been, until I woke up here. There was nothing and nobody back home waiting for my return, because they thought I was gone. I might as well be, I supposed, seeing as I had no way of going back.

What was I supposed to do now? I sat in the bathtub until my fingers pruned, but no answer came to me.

Eventually, there came a knock on the door. The lady’s maid had returned.

When she knocked a second time, calling out to her lady, I told her that I had no need for her services and that she could go. Thankfully, she didn’t question my order and left.

I got out of the bathtub at some point, of that I was certain, but if anyone were to ask what I had done next, I’d be hard-pressed to respond accurately. The rest of the day was a complete blur to me and would remain that way, any time I tried to think back to it.