Page 9 of A Time Traveler’s Masquerade (A McQuivey’s Costume Shop Romance)

I sla’s mouth went dry. Lady Maidstone had to be joking. When Lord Bancroft had first suggested that her reason for being at Copfield Hall at this particular time might have something to do with the gunpowder plot, she’d wondered if perhaps she was meant to warn him and Lord Maidstone to stay away from London. Or maybe alert them to the dangers of being associated with the men involved in the conspiracy.

“I really don’t think I should get entangled in this,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, history has already been written.”

“True,” Lord Maidstone said. “But what if Martha is correct? Is it possible that you have always been an integral yet anonymous part of that history?”

Isla’s thoughts spun. How was she supposed to make sense of the past, present, and future when they collided like this? “But what if I’m not? What if, by getting involved, I mess things up? If Guy Fawkes is successful because I do the wrong thing ...” She swallowed, the magnitude of that disaster washing over her in an overwhelming wave.

Lord Bancroft moved from his place at the fireplace to take the chair beside her, his dark eyes reflecting the turmoil she was experiencing. “As challenging as this is to grasp, we must do our best to think it through.”

He was right. She needed to remain calm and think clearly.

“You said that most historians believe Tresham sent the note. Why has that not been generally accepted?” he asked.

“Most think it was Tresham since he was a relatively new addition to the group of conspirators and his sister would be directly affected if Lord Monteagle were in the chambers when the explosion occurred. But Tresham vehemently denied it, and no one was ever able to place him in the vicinity of Lord Monteagle’s house on the evening of the dinner party.”

“If the conspirators have kept their plans secret for years, it does seem unlikely that one of them would terminate that allegiance immediately before the culmination of all their efforts,” Lord Maidstone said.

“Unless the mounting pressure caused one of them to crack,” Lord Bancroft said.

“Is there any reason why we could not wait to see if a note is delivered during that dinner party?” Martha asked. “If it is, then we know history has remained on course without Miss Crawford’s intervention. If it is not, then we assume she has always been the originator of the warning note. Miss Crawford could have a letter ready and can see that it is delivered to Lord Monteagle by that evening’s end.”

Lord Bancroft gave his sister a startled look. “When did you become so wise?”

“I believe she always has been, Bancroft,” Lord Maidstone said, an unmistakable air of pride in his voice. “You simply did not notice.”

“In fairness, it may have been difficult to see beyond my older-sibling overbearing tendencies,” Lady Maidstone added.

Lord Bancroft gave her a wry smile. “Ah, yes. The overbearing tendency is something I am well acquainted with.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Lord Maidstone said, “I believe Martha has hit upon a sound solution.”

Isla could think of half a dozen solid reasons why it was a terrible solution—most of them involving her inability to fulfill the assignment without drawing all sorts of unwanted attention. She started with one of the most basic. “You do realize that I can barely write a single legible word with a quill. A whole letter is completely beyond me.”

“If Lord Monteagle’s dinner party is not until the end of the month, you have almost four weeks to practice,” Lady Maidstone said, seemingly unperturbed. “I have no doubt you shall have wonderful penmanship by then.”

Isla had no such confidence. “But how would we know if another letter is delivered?”

“It would be all but impossible unless we are guests at Monteagle’s dinner,” Lord Bancroft said.

“That is easily accomplished,” Lord Maidstone said. “Monteagle owes me a rather large favor for giving him the name of a captain willing to transport cargo for him from India.”

“You think he would be willing to extend an invitation for four?” Lord Bancroft asked.

“Without question.” Lord Maidstone leaned back in his chair as though everything was settled. “I have only to suggest it to him.”

Isla fought back her mounting panic. “I don’t think I can navigate all the unknowns of a seventeenth-century dinner party without people noticing my mistakes. The last thing I’d want to do is draw extra attention, but between not knowing the right etiquette or vocabulary, I’d be a walking disaster.”

“She has a point, Maidstone,” Lord Bancroft said, and Isla wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for his support or offended that he thought her such a liability.

“One of us would have to be at her side the entire evening,” Lord Maidstone said. “A subtle prompt every once in a while is all that would be required.”

Lord Maidstone’s faith in her should have brought her comfort. Unfortunately, it didn’t. Lord Bancroft obviously wasn’t convinced, and he’d spent far more time with her. He was a firsthand witness to her many blunders.

“It may not be quite that easy,” Lord Bancroft said. “It will raise eyebrows if you or I remain at Miss Crawford’s side all night, and Martha will undoubtedly be pulled away by someone at some point.”

“You are right,” Lady Maidstone agreed. “But there is a simple solution to that difficulty.”

“What is that?” Lord Bancroft asked.

“Miss Crawford goes to London as your betrothed.”

Isla’s stomach lurched, and she reached for the arm rests, digging her fingers into the polished wood even as Lord Bancroft glared at his sister.

“I certainly hope you are jesting,” he said.

“Not at all. Neither am I being overbearing. I am thinking through our options in a calculated—and might I even say wise —manner.”

“No,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “In this instance, you may not use the word wise .”

“Steady, Bancroft,” Lord Maidstone interjected. “I believe we should all hold back judgment until Martha has had a chance to say her piece.”

“Thank you, Hugh.” Martha met Lord Bancroft’s glare without wavering. “Simon, you know full well that if you attend this dinner party without an attachment, Lady Monteagle will ensure that several other unattached young ladies are also in attendance. She will have you circulate the room and talk to every one of them. You will also doubtless be seated between two of her favorites at the dinner table. She will not seat two ladies together, which means Miss Crawford will be separated from me. Hugh’s rank will have him sitting near the head of the table, and Miss Crawford’s lack of rank will place her nowhere near him.

“In addition to that, if you wish to see Miss Crawford more than once or twice during the fortnight that we shall be required to be in the city, Society tongue-waggers will require that you have a compelling reason for making those calls. If not, they will surely create one of their own.”

“You can’t be serious.” Isla looked from Lady Maidstone to Lord Bancroft. “The only way I can sit beside Lord Bancroft at dinner or be seen with him outside that party is if we are engaged to each other?”

“Or married,” Lady Maidstone said. “But in this instance, that would be taking the charade a little too far.”

Lord Bancroft’s jaw tightened. “I am glad you think so.”

“But that’s crazy!” Isla said.

Lady Maidstone inclined her head. “Call it what you will; it is the way of things in this century.”

“And what happens to this supposed betrothal after November 5?” There was an edge to Lord Bancroft’s voice that Isla hadn’t heard before.

“If Miss Crawford disappears as quickly as she came, we could claim that she succumbed to the plague,” Lady Maidstone said.

“And if she does not?”

Isla’s grip on the arms of the chair tightened. If she never returned to the twenty-first century, what would become of her?

“You can have a change of heart and call off the betrothal.”

With a groan, Lord Bancroft ran his fingers through his hair. “Do not gloss over the implications of that disastrous act, Martha.”

“Why would it be disastrous?” Isla asked.

“Neither of us would be viewed in a favorable light following a broken betrothal, but whereas you might be granted some clemency due to a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, I would be hard-pressed to escape the stigma of committing a breach of contract.”

“So, Miss Crawford must be the one to sever the arrangement,” Lady Maidstone said.

This conversation was beginning to take on the fuzzy and ludicrous properties of a dream—or rather, a nightmare.

“Is all this really necessary?” Isla asked.

“If you wish to have ready access to my brother’s assistance with whatever lies ahead in London,” Lady Maidstone said, “it is all but imperative.”

“I believe Martha has the right of it, Bancroft,” Lord Maidstone said. “I realize that it is easy for us to say that, not having to live with the consequences of this pretense ourselves, but if we do not do everything in our power to ensure that Monteagle receives the warning letter, our entire nation is at risk.”

Lord Bancroft released a slow breath. And then he turned to Isla, his troubled eyes meeting hers. “Are you willing to enter into this mock betrothal with me, Miss Crawford?”

“Do you think we can manage it?” she asked.

His smile was thin, but it was something. “I do. As Martha said, you have time to learn a great deal before we arrive in London. Indeed, by then, you may not need my aid at all, but if you desire it, I am willing to provide it.”

The seriousness of what lay ahead was mind-numbing, but if she did not have to face everything and everyone alone—if Lord Bancroft were at her side throughout it all—perhaps she could do what was required of her.

“Then, yes,” she said. “I’ll play my part. And for the record, I’m absolutely sure I’m going to need your help.”

“We shall see to your wardrobe right away,” Lady Maidstone said. “You will have to learn the correct forms of greeting and table etiquette, an elegant curtsy and acceptable subjects of conversation. Oh, and you must practice your penmanship every day.”

“Oh dear,” Isla said. “This is going to be like trying to drink out of a fire hydrant.”

Lord Bancroft gave her a perplexed look. “What is a fire hydrant?”

Isla moaned. She was in so much trouble. “Who are we kidding? I’m going to have to remain mute from the moment I arrive in London.”

“That would certainly add a new level of difficulty to the challenge,” Lord Bancroft said. “But it might work.”

“Absolutely not,” his sister said. “We shall simply add current word usage to your daily studies.”

Isla must have appeared as overwhelmed as she felt, because Lord Bancroft’s expression changed from quizzical to concerned.

“I daresay that would be helpful,” he said, “but Miss Crawford has something else she must do first. Could you spare her for an hour or so before she begins her training?”

Isla had absolutely no idea what Lord Bancroft was talking about, but if it bought her a little time to regroup, she was all for it.

“Certainly,” Lady Maidstone said, looking almost as surprised by Lord Bancroft’s announcement as Isla felt. “I shall use the time to go through my wardrobe with Maggie. I am sure we can find some gowns there that would look quite splendid on Miss Crawford.” She nodded as though it were decided. “Whenever you are ready, Miss Crawford, you may come to my chamber to make your choices.”

“Thank you,” Isla said. “You’ve been incredibly kind.”

“On the contrary,” Lady Maidstone said. “If we are correct, your willingness to act will save the lives of countless people, including my husband and brother. You are the one who should be thanked.”

An uncomfortable weight settled on Isla’s shoulders. Regardless of her long list of inadequacies, there was no room for mistakes with the task ahead.

“Come,” Lord Bancroft said, rising to his feet.

Startled, Isla stood. “Where are we—”

The slight shake of his head cut off her question. “I shall deliver Miss Crawford to your chambers shortly, Martha,” he said.

Curiosity shone in the lady’s eyes, but she nodded. “Very well.”

“I daresay you’d best locate Maggie and warn her of what you have planned, my dear,” Lord Maidstone said, vacating his chair. “Meanwhile, I shall set about drafting a missive to Monteagle, encouraging him to invite all four of us to dinner.”

“Thank you for taking that on, Maidstone,” Lord Bancroft said.

Lord Maidstone inclined his head. “Given that my assignment is undoubtedly the easiest of this entire scheme, I shall endeavor to ensure that our places at Monteagle’s table are guaranteed.”

Guaranteed . The word carried with it an exactness that was about as far from Isla’s capabilities right now as it could be. Battling her mounting apprehension, she barely felt the light brush of fingers at her elbow. She darted a glance at Lord Bancroft. He nodded, and with a firm but gentle touch, he steered her toward the door.

She followed his lead, remaining silent until the parlor and the Maidstones were behind them, and they were approaching the staircase.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“The nursery.”

She stumbled to a halt. Had she totally lost her mind? She had no memory of scheduling a nursery visit. “Are Sam and Will expecting us?”

“No.” His smile was fleeting. “I have not known you long, Miss Crawford, but I recognized the look on your face in the parlor. It was the same one you exhibited when we spoke in the grove of trees yesterday morning. On that occasion, I was the one in need of time in the nursery to clear my head. I thought in this instance, perhaps you might benefit from it.” A flicker of uncertainty entered his eyes. “After all that was just handed you, a spinning-top competition might be just the thing to turn trepidation into laughter. Better than a lesson on seventeenth-century protocols, at least.”

To Isla’s horror, tears pricked her eyes. She had friends who’d known her for years who would not have been so sensitive to her feelings. She blinked a few times and fought for control of her emotions. “That’s very kind of you, my lord, but I don’t want to reward your thoughtfulness by making you feel bad.”

He frowned. “Would you rather not go to the nursery?”

“Oh no, I want to go very much. It’s just that if we have a spinning-top competition, you will probably lose every game.”

The lines on his forehead disappeared, and a smile emerged. “So you think. As a gentleman, I should probably warn you that Will is the undisputed champion of spinning tops, but I am a close second.”

“Ah, but you haven’t played against me yet,” Isla said, starting up the stairs. “And Sam might surprise you too. Especially if I give him some pointers.”

Lord Bancroft’s soft chuckle followed her up the staircase, and for the first time since she’d dismounted Belle, Isla found herself looking forward to what was to come next.

“Mine is still going!” Sam jumped up and down with excitement as Will’s peg top tumbled to a stop beside Simon’s foot.

“Well done, Sam,” Miss Crawford said, clapping her hands and smiling widely. “I knew you could do it!”

Simon forced his gaze away from her radiant face to focus on his excited nephews. The boys were already setting up for a rematch, and as Miss Crawford prepared to start them off, Simon experienced a wave of gratitude that his instincts had not failed him. She had needed this time in the nursery. Her troubles had not disappeared, but Will and Sam had helped her forget her worries long enough to experience childlike joy.

Simon had not allowed himself to think through the many and troubling ramifications of his counterfeit betrothal or Catsby’s dastardly plot. That would come later—when he was alone. Given what lay ahead, even without thinking it all through yet, he had a feeling both he and Miss Crawford would be making regular pilgrimages to the nursery over the next few weeks.

“I won again, Uncle Simon!” Sam was jubilant, and to his credit, Will was allowing his brother a moment of glory.

“I am proud of you,” Simon said. “And of you, Will. You have both become champion top spinners, and I think it is time I contrive a new game to play with you so that I may stand a chance of winning.”

The twins laughed delightedly but were obviously not ready to abandon their activity just yet. Setting their tops to spin again, their attention quickly reverted to the wooden toys.

Miss Crawford moved to join Simon beside the small table. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Martha is one of the most generous people I know,” he said, “but sometimes her enthusiasm can be overwhelming. You will undoubtedly spend a great deal of time with her over the next few weeks, and I have every reason to believe you will become fast friends. But should you ever need an escape, I recommend the nursery or a ride on Belle.”

“And if I run into you in here or on Blaze, am I to assume you’re escaping too?”

He should have guessed she would see through his means of evading disquieting thoughts. “That is a distinct possibility.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. If I were more capable, I wouldn’t need someone to guide me through everything.”

“Miss Crawford—”

She set her hand on his arm, effectively stopping him before he could say anything more. “Please,” she said. “If we are to behave as if we’re engaged, would you call me Isla? People tend to go by their first names in the twenty-first century, and it would help me feel more normal.”

“Isla,” he said. It was an unusual name, but it suited her. “Very well.” He paused. “Would it help if you called me Simon?”

“Yes.” She smiled, and he was struck yet again by how much the simple gesture lit her entire countenance. “But if you’d like me to keep up my horribly awkward curtsies when we run into each other, I can do that too.”

He laughed. “Martha will have you curtsying gracefully within a day. She will tell you who should be greeted that way. If my name is on the list, however, you may remove it.”

“Given that you are a titled gentleman, I’m not sure that she will agree with that decision.”

“Probably not,” he admitted, “but I believe we can persuade her that it is what we would both prefer whilst at Copfield Hall, even if we must reinstate obligatory bows and curtsies when we are in London.”

She released a heavy sigh. “Okay.”

“Ah.” She’d spoken without thinking, and Simon was disinclined to let it pass without teasing her. “The word that means you wish to go riding again.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

He grinned. “I believe more riding can be arranged.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said, and then she groaned. “I really think keeping my mouth closed the whole time is safer.”

“And horribly tedious,” he said. “I would rather be betrothed to someone who speaks her mind—even if I do not fully comprehend it.”

Isla shook her head helplessly. “I will try harder. Really, I will.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, Martha will not rest until you are speaking as a true Jacobean young lady.”

“I don’t think she fully realizes what she’s taken on.”

“Do not take that burden upon yourself. Martha is extremely capable and remarkably fearless.” He gestured toward the door. “And to that end, I should probably take you to her chambers before she comes looking for you.”

Isla nodded but did not immediately move. “Do you think she would mind if I came to the nursery on my own occasionally?”

Memory of Maidstone’s mandate concerning restricting Isla’s access to his sons flooded Simon’s mind. To the best of his knowledge, Isla had not been left alone in the house since Maidstone had issued it. After their recent meeting in the parlor, however, Simon thought it likely that his brother-in-law’s stance would soon change. “As long as Miss Tomlinson is with you, I do not think Martha would mind at all.” He glanced at the boys’ nursemaid, who was currently watching the twins from the comfort of the nursery rocking chair. “And I speak from personal experience when I say that Will and Sam are always pleased to have visitors.”

Relief filled Isla’s eyes. “When I’m here, it doesn’t seem so important that I have the wrong vocabulary or don’t know how to use a quill.”

“Indeed,” he said. “How fleet of foot you are and how well you spin a peg top are far more important.”

“I think I’d better add practicing turning a peg top to my list of things to do.”

“Very wise,” Simon said, offering her his arm. “And if you also choose to add riding to your schedule, you will find me at the stables most mornings at sunrise.”