Page 1

Chapter 1

London, Present Day

Isla Crawford stared at the email on her screen and frowned. Another letter from one of Audrey Marshall’s constituents complaining about the chronic lack of school funding in the country. It was the fifth email about the issue this week. At this rate, her boss would have to do more than ask Isla to write a placating response. Ms. Marshall would need to act—or at the very least, promise to act—by addressing the problem in Parliament.

“Well? Have you decided yet?”

With a start, Isla looked up from her computer. Her friend and colleague Chloe Osbourne was leaning over her desk, an expectant look in her brown eyes.

“Decided what?” Isla asked, her thoughts scattering from her current email crisis to the myriad other issues she’d been dealing with all day.

Chloe groaned. “Do you ever lift your nose from the grindstone long enough to smell the roses?”

Isla bit her lip to prevent a giggle at Chloe’s idiom fusion. Isla should be used to it. Chloe blended idioms all the time, and the fact that her friend was blissfully unaware of her habit only made it funnier.

“I sometimes stop to smell the roses in Kensington Gardens,” Isla said. “I think that counts.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “It’s almost October. Are there even roses blooming right now?”

“Yep. Pink ones.” Isla knew this because she’d seen them two days ago when she’d been on her early morning run. She didn’t bother telling Chloe that she hadn’t actually stopped to smell them.

“I can’t believe you noticed,” Chloe said.

“I notice lots of things,” Isla said. “Like, you’re wearing a new shirt, and the copy machine’s broken.”

“First,” Chloe said, “I bought this shirt three months ago. That hardly qualifies as new.”

As far as Isla was concerned, it did. She wasn’t sure what Chloe’s clothing budget was, but it had to be significantly larger than hers.

“Second,” Chloe continued, “the copy machine has been broken since yesterday, and since Dave’s been complaining about it all day, that hardly qualifies as a personal observation.”

Recognizing that this was a battle she wasn’t destined to win, Isla returned to Chloe’s original question. “Okay. I’ll admit, I sometimes get sucked up in my work and often spend too much time researching past parliamentary sessions, so tell me what I’m supposed to be deciding?”

“If you honestly don’t know, you really do have a problem.”

“Actually,” Isla said, “I have lots of problems. An entire inbox full of them.”

Chloe sighed. They both worked as Ms. Marshall’s assistants, but whereas Chloe was in charge of coordinating events, Isla oversaw all the politician’s correspondence and press releases. “Fine. Stop thinking about those for two minutes, and tell me if you’re going to be Peter Pan or Wendy for the Fall Ball.”

Isla pinned a smile on her face even as her eyes darted to the date on the corner of her screen. September 29. Her heart sank. Logically, she’d known they were nearing the end of the month. She’d been typing the date on letters all week. And yet, she’d not stopped long enough to consider how quickly October was approaching. Or more specifically, October 2. That was the date of this year’s Fall Ball, the annual gala held in the vast atrium at Portcullis House that most members of Parliament and their staff attended. It was a fancy affair, with live music, expensive catering . . . and elaborate costumes.

“I thought we decided I should be Wendy,” Isla said. Chloe was going as Tinkerbell. Her short, blonde hair and petite stature were perfect for the part. Dave, Ms. Marshall’s chief-of-staff and the only other person in their office, had initially suggested that he go as Peter Pan. Thankfully, Chloe had persuaded him that he would appear far more dashing as Captain Hook. Heavy-set Dave walking around in green tights would not have been pretty.

“Did you find a nightie?” Chloe asked.

“I have a red plaid one and a green one covered in little sheep.”

“Then, you don’t have a costume.” Chloe folded her arms. “It doesn’t matter if your hair is the same length and color as Wendy’s; if you’re not wearing a blue nightie, people will think you came to the ball in your pajamas.”

“Just because Disney’s Wendy wears a blue nightgown doesn’t mean it has to be that color,” Isla said. “How does J. M. Barrie describe it in the book?”

Chloe groaned. “Isla, we’re not looking for historical or literary accuracy here. I know that’s your thing, but as hard as it must be for you to wrap your mind around it, most people haven’t read the book. As far as the general population goes, Disney’s characters have it right. Tinkerbell wears green, and Wendy wears light blue.”

“But—” One look at Chloe’s face and Isla’s argument fizzled. “I’ll stop at Primark on the way home to see if I can find one that color.” The discount clothing chain was her best hope of protecting her budget. “But if they don’t—”

“They don’t,” Chloe said. “I already checked. The only blue ones they have are covered in unicorns, and the largest size is age eight.”

“I have a Regency gown at home. I can wear that instead.”