Page 7 of A Time Traveler’s Masquerade (A McQuivey’s Costume Shop Romance)

O ne of the Maidstones’ servants accompanied Isla along the gravel path that led toward the stables behind the manor. The sun was attempting to make an appearance between the clouds, which seemed an appropriate reflection of Isla’s state of mind. The fear and helplessness that had filled her heart yesterday morning was not gone, but a flicker of hope was attempting to dispel her lingering distress.

She’d spent most of the previous day with Lady Maidstone and Maggie. They’d been unfailingly patient with her. It had taken Isla eight attempts to light some kindling with the spark from a flint, three attempts to lace a bodice tightly enough, and two attempts plus much exertion to plump up the straw-and-feather ticks on the bed. Lady Maidstone had sat with her for hours, peppering her with questions about twenty-first-century life while Isla had tried to write with a quill. Her first efforts had been embarrassingly bad, and when she’d told Lady Maidstone that it looked as though a drunken spider had fallen into the inkwell only to stagger across the paper, her hostess had been hard-pressed to fight back her laughter.

In one hour, Isla’s efforts had improved enough to resemble the work of a sober ink-covered spider walking in a relatively straight line, but she had a horrible suspicion that Sam’s and Will’s penmanship would outclass hers. There had been more than once during the painstaking exercise when Isla had wished that Lady Maidstone could appreciate how extraordinarily fast Isla typed, but explaining computer keyboards after she had already tried describing televisions, radios, and telephones had seemed more trouble than it had been worth.

By the end of the day, mental and emotional exhaustion had overcome her small successes, and she’d asked if she might be excused from joining the family for their evening meal in favor of going to bed early. Lady Maidstone had been good enough to send some warm milk and bread to Isla’s room. Isla had enjoyed it far more than the bite of braised eel she’d eaten the day before, although she’d been surprised by how much she’d missed seeing the gentleman who had enjoyed that food so much.

She didn’t know how Lord Bancroft had spent his day after she’d left the parlor or even if he was any closer to believing her story now than he had been at first. She only knew that the knowledge that she would spend time with him and the twins this morning had made facing today’s challenges a little less daunting.

“Look at me, Uncle Simon!” The young boy’s voice rang with excitement, and Isla increased her pace.

“Nicely done, Will.” Lord Bancroft came into view. He was standing near the stables, watching his nephews circle the wide yard on two dappled gray ponies. Each of the ponies was being led on a rope by a stablehand. “Be sure to sit up nice and tall.”

The boy wearing a pale-blue jacket and breeches straightened his small shoulders, and Isla made the appropriate mental note: Will was wearing light blue. Sam was dressed in navy. She turned her attention to Lord Bancroft. This morning, his jacket and breeches were a dark green, plush fabric, his boots were black leather, and his white shirt collar was wide and trimmed with a narrow band of lace. He chuckled at Sam’s attempts to urge his small pony to move faster, and she caught herself smiling in response.

She was obviously adjusting to her new environment better than she’d thought. If any of the men she’d gone out with at uni or since she’d moved to London had shown up at her door dressed the way Lord Bancroft was now, she would have politely but immediately turned him away. At this precise moment, however, she found herself battling a completely opposite reaction. Dressed in his elaborate clothing, with his well-trimmed beard, thick dark hair, and dark eyes, Lord Bancroft was distractingly handsome.

“Miss Crawford!” Sam spotted her and released his grip on the reins long enough to wave.

Will immediately turned in his saddle. “We’re riding, Miss Crawford!” he called.

“So I see,” Isla said. “And it looks like you’re both slaying it!”

Lord Bancroft gave her a troubled look. “‘Slaying it’? As in, killing the ponies?”

“Oh, good grief.” Isla covered her face with a hand. “I promised myself I’d do better with my slang.” She peered at him between her fingers. “Do you think they heard me?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said dryly. “As did the stablehands.”

Isla groaned and turned back to the circling ponies. “You’re doing marvelously, boys,” she called. “I need you to show me how it’s done.”

“You must sit up nice and tall,” Will said, echoing Lord Bancroft’s instructions as he drew closer. “See? Just like this.” He raised his chin, and Isla fought back a smile.

“I shall try to remember,” she said.

“That’s good.” Will offered her a winning smile before beginning his circuit again.

The servant who had accompanied Isla to the yard bowed to Lord Bancroft, and upon the gentleman’s nod of dismissal, the servant bowed again—this time to Isla—and started back toward the house.

“How are you this morning, Miss Crawford?” Lord Bancroft asked, his question drawing her attention away from the departing servant.

“I’m well, thank you.” Wishing she’d asked Lady Maidstone whether she was expected to curtsy every time she greeted her hostess, Lord Maidstone, or Lord Bancroft, she ended up bobbing up and down awkwardly.

“How did your initiation into seventeenth-century life go yesterday?” he asked. “I had thought to ask about your day at the evening meal, but Martha told me you chose to retire early.”

Isla eyed him warily. “Did she also tell you I wore out my fingers trying to write with a quill?”

His lips twitched, but he manfully kept a full smile from appearing. “She may have mentioned that it was a challenging task for you.”

Isla raised her right hand so he could see the black ink stains on her fingers. “It was an exercise in mortification.”

This time, he released his laughter.

“I feel completely daft,” Isla said, “even if it does further demonstrate that I’m telling the truth.”

He sobered immediately. “I would surmise that you are dealing with the unknown far better than most in your situation.”

“Does that mean you do believe my story? Or is it just your version of a pep talk before I make an even bigger idiot of myself on a horse?”

“I continue to fight an internal battle with regard to your story, but the ‘suspending disbelief’ you spoke of is a little easier than it was. As to the other, I have no idea what a pep talk is, but I am quite sure you will not make an idiot of yourself on Belle.”

As relieved as she was to hear that his skepticism was lessening, a knot of nervousness formed in her stomach. Will and Sam were making riding look far too easy. And enjoyable.

“Miss Crawford?”

She heard the concern in Lord Bancroft’s voice and turned to meet his uneasy gaze with the honesty she knew he deserved. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t afraid. I neglected to tell you earlier that my eight-year-old self got her foot tangled in the pony’s stirrup on Formby Beach and promptly fell onto the sand. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve been near a horse since then.”

His look softened. “I will not allow anything bad to happen to you.”

“How can you be so sure? Horses are animals. They have wills of their own. And I’ve heard that they can sense fear in a rider.”

“All those things are true, but Belle is mild-mannered and very well trained. She will treat you gently.”

“Do you have a helmet I can wear?”

His brow furrowed. “You will be riding around the yard and possibly across an empty meadow—not going to war.”

“Right.” Given that Sam and Will were riding without helmets, it should not have come as a surprise that she would be too. It was no wonder that the life expectancy in this century was so low.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She wanted to say yes. Half an hour ago, she’d thought she was. But now that the stablehands were leading Sam’s and Will’s ponies toward the nearby building, her nervousness was increasing.

“How will this work exactly?” she asked.

“As soon as the ponies are restabled, the stablehands will bring out Belle. Miss Tomlinson will take the boys back to the house, and we shall focus on the basics of mounting and walking the horse. When you feel sufficiently comfortable in the saddle, I shall have my horse readied, and we can take a short ride together.”

When , not if . Isla swallowed. Lord Bancroft had considerably more confidence in her ability to pick up the necessary riding skills than she did. “I’ll do my best.”

He smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.” He paused. “Tell me, these cars that you claim you drive, was it a hard skill to learn?”

“I suppose so.” Isla thought back to her first driving lesson with her father. “Timing depressing the clutch with releasing the break or pressing the accelerator was tricky. And I shifted into the wrong gear more than once, which stalled the car.”

“You see,” he said, “if our roles were reversed, even after you had broken down the most basic instructions into language I understood, I would surely struggle to make the vehicle move.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better about not knowing what to do on a horse?”

He did not answer. Instead, he offered her his arm. “May I make a prediction, Miss Crawford? I would hazard a guess that once you have a feel for the horse’s gait, you will fall in love with riding.”

She set her hand on his sleeve. She wasn’t trembling quite as much as she had been moments before. “Can I make a prediction too?” she asked. “If you were to ever get into a car—especially a nippy little sports car—you’d figure out how to operate it in record time, and you’d drive it very fast.”

He laughed. “I rather like your prediction.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at the thought. “Me too.”

“Impossible,” Miss Crawford said, eyeing Belle as though he’d just told her that mounting the horse would take her back to the twenty-first century.

“I assure you it is not,” Simon said. “There are countless numbers of young ladies who successfully ride sidesaddle every day.”

“I’m sure there are,” Miss Crawford said. “It’s not the sidesaddle I have an issue with. It’s getting on it with these enormous hoops under my skirt.”

Simon shifted uncomfortably. He had never considered how ladies managed their farthingales when using a sidesaddle, but he had no desire to discuss the complexities of a lady’s underwear in front of a stablehand. “Ezra will hold Belle steady,” he said, “and if you will allow me, I can help you into the saddle.”

Her gaze shifted from the patiently waiting horse and stablehand to her wide skirts. “Will you give me two minutes?” she asked.

“Give you two minutes?”

“Yes.” She lifted the hem of her offending skirts and ran past the door to the stables. “And don’t let anyone come behind the building until I come back,” she called.

Simon ran his hand across the back of his neck. Blast it all, trying to understand this woman was like trying to make sense of a butterfly’s flight path. Just when he thought he understood what she was about, she took off in a completely different direction. Should he dismiss Ezra and continue this ill-fated riding lesson alone? At this rate, he and Miss Crawford would spend the entire morning discussing the difficulty of sitting upon a sidesaddle rather than actually riding a horse.

“Are you needed in the stables, Ezra?” he asked.

“It’s all right, m’ lord,” the lad said. “Duncan’s takin’ care o’ the ponies. ’E knows t’ bring Blaze out when ’e’s got ’em settled.”

“Very well.” They would wait Miss Crawford’s allotted two minutes, and then he would go after her.

He heard her running footsteps moments before she appeared around the back of the stables.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said, her blue skirts billowing loosely around her legs as she slowed to a walk. “I’m ready now.”

He stared at her. “What did you do?”

“Took off the farthingale.” She said it as though she’d simply taken a pin out of her hair. “I left it under the bush behind the stables. I’ll pick it up again before I go back to the house.” She set her focus on the sidesaddle. “If you tell me what to do, I think I can manage to sit on the horse now.”

Counting his lucky stars that Miss Crawford had not also hiked her skirts to her knees, and that Ezra was the only other witness to her unconventional approach to a riding habit, Simon pointed to the pommel atop the sidesaddle. “Your right leg will hook around the pommel to anchor you to the saddle. Although both legs will be to one side of the horse, you will be able to face forward.” This saddle was an improvement over the traditional sidesaddle with a wooden platform for the ladies’ feet that had been commonplace before Queen Elizabeth’s reign, but as far as Simon was concerned, there remained significant room for improvement.

“Right leg around the pommel,” Miss Crawford repeated. “Got it.”

“Are you ready, Ezra?” Simon asked.

“Yes, m’ lord.”

“Hold her steady.” Simon placed his hands around Miss Crawford’s tiny waist. A frisson of awareness pulsed through him, setting his senses humming. He cleared his throat, hoping the action would also clear his mind. “On the count of three, Miss Crawford.”

She gave a small nod. He counted and then lifted her onto the saddle. She slipped sideways, reaching for his shoulder to steady herself. Belle shifted slightly, and Miss Crawford gasped.

“I have you,” he said, taking her hand. “Relax.”

“I’m perched on an animal ten times my size,” she said, her eyes wide. “Relaxing is a bit hard.”

“Think of Sam and Will waving at you from their ponies,” he said.

She took a deep breath, and her viselike grip on his hand eased.

“Well done.” He guided her fingers to the reins. “Take these. Ezra will remain at Belle’s head, and I shall remain at your side. We’re going to walk slowly around the yard, just as the boys did.”

“Emphasis on slowly , right?” she asked.

He nodded solemnly. “Snail’s pace.”

Isla had to admit that she’d seen more improvement after one hour on a horse this morning than she had after the same amount of time with a quill yesterday. Just a moment ago, a second stablehand had brought Lord Bancroft’s horse out to join them. Even with her limited experience, Isla recognized a majestic animal when she saw one. Blaze was stunning, and if his pricked-up ears and alert eyes were any indication, he was ready for more than a sedate walk around the yard.

Despite Belle’s placid demeanor, Ezra kept a reassuring hand on Belle’s bridle while Lord Bancroft mounted his horse. Isla waited, grateful that she’d relaxed enough in the saddle to actually enjoy the experience. She wasn’t ready to canter off alone, but her knuckles were no longer white, and she could appreciate the thrill of being outdoors astride a powerful animal.

Lord Bancroft guided his horse closer. “What do you think, Miss Crawford? Are you ready to venture out of the yard?”

“I think I am.”

He smiled. “I am glad to hear it.”

Isla willed away the flush of warmth his obvious pleasure at her response brought on. She had not left the house or its immediate surroundings since her arrival, but now that she felt more comfortable astride her mount, her eagerness to see more than the woodshed and yard was hardly surprising. Her strong desire to share a new experience with Lord Bancroft, however, was a little more disconcerting. And it was something she’d rather not admit to. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

He pointed toward a wooden gate in the nearby hedge. “If Ezra opens the gate for us, we can take the horses into the meadow. There’s a footpath that leads to the crest of the hill and a lookout of sorts. It’s not far, but it will give you a feel for riding on something other than the hard-packed dirt and gravel of the yard.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Shall I open th’ gate, then, m’ lord?” Ezra asked.

“If you’d be so kind,” Lord Bancroft said, angling his horse so that he was within reach of Isla. “I believe Miss Crawford can manage.”

Ezra relinquished his hold on Belle’s bridle and hurried across the yard. Belle tossed her head as though glad to be free of that added restriction. Isla tightened her grasp on the reins. She might have doubts about her ability to manage the horse unaided, but Lord Bancroft didn’t. It was time to dig a little deeper for some confidence.

“How will Belle know when to move?” she asked.

“If I allow Blaze to take the lead, Belle will follow.” He offered Isla a reassuring look. “These two are well used to each other. Martha and I have ridden them together many times.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No fair!” Isla said. “I can’t think about using old English words when my whole focus is on staying in this saddle.”

He grinned. “Reasonable enough. I shall come up with my own interpretation. You used this word the last time we were talking about Blaze, so I imagine okay means ‘I wish I had ridden many more times also.’”

“Or it could just mean ‘very well,’” Isla suggested.

He shook his head. “That is far too prosaic. I prefer my interpretation.”

“Okay,” Isla said, and then when she realized what she’d done, she began to laugh. “In my current state, I can’t win this battle of words.”

“That is just as well,” Lord Bancroft said, humor dancing in his eyes. “It will enable us to concentrate on the ride instead.”

They rode through the gate side by side. Lord Bancroft kept Blaze at a steady walk and—just as he’d told Isla she would—Belle kept pace. Ezra closed the gate behind them, and Isla adjusted her position in the saddle to take advantage of the view.

Sheep, some standing alone and others in small clusters, dotted the field. Their bleating filled the air, and although a few stopped their grazing to stare curiously as the two riders cut through the pasture, most continued with their meal undeterred. Above their heads, a few puffy clouds hung suspended in the blue sky, and after all the rain of the last few days, it was good to feel the warmth of the late autumn sun.

“The leaves are starting to change colors,” she said, her attention on a small grove up ahead. “They’re beautiful.”

“They are,” Lord Bancroft agreed. “I always enjoy coming to Copfield Hall, but I confess, the countryside around here puts on its very best show at this time of year.”

“What about the area where your family home is located?” she asked.

“Bancroft House is in the Peak District,” he said. “It has its own beauty, but the countryside is more wild and rugged than Surrey’s. Rather like the weather.”

“York’s temperatures are often chillier than London’s too,” Isla said.

He looked at her curiously. “Do you miss the north?”

“Sometimes. I miss my family—although they’ve never felt quite so inaccessible as they do now.”

“So I imagine.”

They rode on. Grateful that Lord Bancroft didn’t feel the need to fill the time with pointless chatter, Isla allowed the gentle sounds of nature to calm her overarching anxiety. The steady hoof falls pounding the ground, the bleating of the sheep and occasional song of a bird, the creak of leather, and the bark of a distant dog. It struck her then. There was no rumble of an engine—no vehicle on a road, no piece of farm machinery in a field, and no airplane in the sky.

“The quiet is lovely,” she said.

“I agree.” They had reached a small stand of trees, and he reined Blaze to a halt. Belle immediately paused beside the larger horse. Isla watched as Lord Bancroft dismounted and walked around his horse to stand opposite her. “Come,” he said, reaching up. “There is something I would like to show you.”

Releasing her hold on the reins, Isla swiveled slightly and leaned forward to set her hands on Lord Bancroft’s shoulders. He reached for her waist. His shoulder muscles tightened beneath her fingers, and then she was airborne. Moments later, her feet were on the ground. She staggered sideways.

“Careful,” he warned, not relinquishing his hold on her. “It may take a moment to adjust to being upright.”

“It’s like my legs have forgotten how to work,” she said.

He met her alarmed expression and chuckled. “It will not take long for them to remember.” Sliding her hands off his shoulders, she gripped his biceps and took a wobbly step. His hold on her waist remained firm. “Take your time.”

She averted her eyes from his. Taking her time was all well and good, but if she didn’t put some space between her and Lord Bancroft soon, her heart would fail her before her legs. She took a second shaky step back. “I think I’m okay.” She shook her head in frustration. “I mean, I think I can manage now.”

Slowly, he lifted his hands. She took another step. This one was more stable.

He smiled and offered her his arm. “Well done. The ground is a little uneven here, but I think you will find the short walk worth the effort.”

When faced with the choice of maintaining some distance or falling flat on her face in front of the gentleman, Isla chose to save herself from the possibility of further humiliation. She set her hand on his arm and attempted to ignore the way her heart instantly responded.

He led her around the trees. On the other side, the ground fell away in a gentle slope, opening into a stunning vista. The rolling hills were crisscrossed by stone walls and hedgerows. Isolated cottages and farmhouses punctuated the fields and wooded areas. Cattle, horses, and sheep grazed in the green meadows, while other fields burst with golden sheaves of grain. In the hollow immediately below them, a cluster of buildings was strung along a winding dirt road, and on one end, a tall spire marked a church.

“Oh!” Isla was momentarily speechless. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think the same every time I view it.” He gestured toward a nearby fallen tree. “If you are not afraid of a little dirt clinging to your clothing, you can sit and take it all in.”

Isla lifted her hand from his arm and crossed the short distance to the log. Grateful that her legs seemed to have recovered, she sat on one end of the fallen tree and gazed out at the view. Her seat shifted slightly, and she looked over to see Lord Bancroft claim a spot a little farther down the log.

“Tell me what I’m looking at,” she said.

“Surrey,” he said. “In all its glory.” But then he pointed to the spire below them. “That’s St. Augustine’s Church and the village of Little Twinning. Beyond the wooded area to your right, you can just make out the chimneys of Greenbriar Manor, home of Lord and Lady Whitely, the Maidstones’ nearest neighbors of note.”

“As in, they have titles?” Isla asked.

“As in, they have titles, land, money, and influence,” he said.

“Ah, I see. Very important neighbors indeed.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Am I to understand that such things are not so significant in your world?”

“Not really,” she said. “The titles still exist, but they’re more honorary than anything. In fact, most people with titles are desperate to come up with ways to pay for the upkeep of their enormous homes.” She paused. “Over the centuries, it’s become easier to move within and across Society’s ranks. There are more opportunities for men and women to follow vocations that really interest them rather than simply following in their fathers’ footsteps.”

“Such as you choosing to work in the government,” he said.

“Yes.” She smiled. “My father’s a school teacher, and my mother’s a nurse. They probably thought I was completely bonkers—I mean, mad—for wanting to work in politics, but they never stopped me.”

“That sounds rather marvelous.”

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “What would you choose to do if your options were unlimited?”

“Since I will never have that luxury, I’ve not given the matter any consideration.”

“But if you could,” she pressed.

He appeared thoughtful. “If I were not a member of the House of Lords, I believe I would search for another avenue that would allow me to affect a positive change in the country.”

“That was my primary reason for entering politics.”

“I would have guessed as much.” He hesitated. “Affecting a positive change aside, I think perhaps I would have enjoyed breeding race horses.”

“Or—if the century of your birth were no object—driving race cars,” she said.

The flicker of humor that she was coming to recognize in his eyes had returned. “You believe I would like that, do you?”

“Yes,” she said. “You’d probably enjoy riding a bullet train too.”

Shaking his head slightly, he looked away, his focus reverting to the scene before them. She watched a seagull sail by; she was content to wait for him to speak again.

“Are you any closer to grasping why the lady at the costume shop may have sent you here?” he finally asked.

It was not what she’d expected him to say, but the question deserved an honest answer. “I think about it constantly. I’ve considered and rejected more possibilities than I can count, but I don’t think I’m any closer to a reason now than I was when your sister suggested it.” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t have any special skills that would help your family members or even the people of Little Twinning. In fact, I’d say I am rather lacking in such things.”

“You made great strides in your equestrian abilities today.”

She frowned. “Do you think I’m here to learn new things?”

“Perhaps. Although, regardless of your assertions to the contrary, I am quite sure you have a great many strengths.” He paused. “What do you consider to be your greatest abilities?”

It was a spectacularly awkward question to answer outside a job interview, but Isla understood Lord Bancroft’s motivation. She clasped her hands together and tried to respond objectively. “I think I’m a good secretary—I have above-average office and people skills. I’m organized, and if it’s a subject I feel passionate about, I can remember more details than most.”

“What do you feel passionate about?” he asked.

“Politics, human rights issues, history.” She stopped, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry. The fact that my history is your actual life makes this feel very odd.”

“Try not to think about that. Instead, consider what you might know that could be of assistance to us.”

“I’ve only ever lived in the cities of York and London. I can’t think of anything I could do or say that would be of worth to people in Jacobean rural England.”

“If you had arrived in London, would there be something?”

Isla’s thoughts immediately leaped to the gunpowder plot. Her grip on her fingers tightened. The date of Guy Fawkes’s attempt to blow up the House of Lords was unnervingly close.

“Miss Crawford?”

She had hesitated a fraction too long, and Lord Bancroft was watching her a little too closely.

“Is there something?”

“Yes.”

He released a tense breath. “You realize that as members of the House of Lords, Maidstone and I are in the country only because the opening of Parliament has been delayed due to the plague resurgence. All those who have the ability to leave the city have done so. If you were meant to influence current events in London, it stands to reason that you may also have had your arrival there postponed.”

“But the event ... the crisis that lies ahead ... it will be averted.”

“You are sure of that?”

She nodded. Her presence in London during the weeks preceding November 5, 1605, could not possibly have any impact on the outcome of the gunpowder plot. The players in that conspiracy were all in place years before the event.

Lord Bancroft had yet to look away. “And yet the very thought of it has the power to rob you of words and cause you to clench your fists.”

“It will go down as one of the most infamous events in British history,” Isla said softly.

His eyes widened. “When will it occur?”

She forced her fingers apart. “Soon.”

Rising to his feet, Lord Bancroft extended his arm to her. Hesitantly, she gave him her hand. He took it and drew her upright. “If you are willing, I think we should continue this conversation at the house in the presence of Maidstone and Martha. The timing of your arrival may have nothing whatsoever to do with the event you know is coming, but given that you have yet to come up with a sound alternative, I think it would behoove us to at least consider it.”

“You believe me?”

“It is becoming harder not to, and I am unwilling to allow my own reservations or stubbornness to cause you to dismiss something that may be of great import.”

He was right. As much as Isla didn’t want any involvement in Guy Fawkes’s treasonous activity, she’d be a fool to ignore it. “If Lord and Lady Maidstone are available when we get back to the house, I’ll share as much of it as I can remember.”

A light squeeze of her hand accompanied his encouraging smile. “Perhaps your exceptional attention to detail is exactly what is needed after all.”