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“And you say this horseless carriage can travel faster than my mount at full gallop?” he asked. At some point, she would surely be caught in her own fabrications.

She eyed him more thoughtfully than he had anticipated. “How fast can your horse go?”

“How would you have me measure it?”

“Do you use miles?” she asked.

“I am familiar with the distance,” he said. “The measurement was set forth in Queen Elizabeth’s reign.”

“Okay, how many miles do you think your horse could travel in an hour?”

Okay? Her speech was peppered with oddities. They were impossible to ignore. Had she purposely made up words to persuade him to believe her story? “If he were given his head, Blaze could travel the best part of forty miles in that time.” Blaze was the fastest mount Simon had ever owned, and he could not help but allow a touch of pride in his response. He did not add that the horse would be completely exhausted by the time it reached its destination.

Unfortunately, Miss Crawford did not appear overly impressed.

“My car can go double that without any difficulty,” she said. “But there are other cars made especially for racing that can go five times that speed.”

Faster than a gale-force wind? Miss Crawford’s grasp of speed and distance was obviously as erred as her concept of time. “That is impossible.”

“But I’ve seen it! When I was younger, my brother made me watch the Indy 500 and the Monaco Grand Prix with him on the telly. Those cars were going close to two hundred miles per hour.”

Indy 500. Grand Prix. Telly. What on earth did those words mean? Simon had never considered himself a dunce. Indeed, in his youth, he’d excelled in his classes. But at least half of what Miss Crawford had just said was lost on him.

His bafflement must have shown on his face because the vibrancy she’d exhibited when she’d spoken of cars evaporated, to be replaced by an air of disappointment.

“I understand,” she said. “When you haven’t seen or experienced something for yourself, it’s hard to imagine that it exists. Up until yesterday, I would never have believed time travel was possible.” Her shoulders drooped. “And yet, here I am.”

She looked away, and Simon received the uncomfortable impression that she might be crying. Blast it all. He’d offered her five minutes of his time, and they’d been sitting on this damp bench for close to thirty. But he was no nearer knowing what to do now than he had been when she’d first told him she’d arrived from the future. The young lady was quite obviously delusional, and the safest thing to do would be to send her on her way with a cloak, a pair of shoes, and some basic provisions. Yet he could not shake the impression that the logical solution was not the correct one.

He needed more time to think this through. More time to observe her. And more time to listen—to her and to his feelings.

“May I have your permission to share what you have told me with Lord and Lady Maidstone?” he asked.

She nodded and wiped her fingers across her cheeks before turning to face him. “I think they need to know, don’t you?”

“I do.” At the sight of her tear-stained face, Simon experienced a pang of self-reproach. No matter its ludicrousness, it was clear that she believed her own story, and Simon could not help but admire her courage. Had most young ladies of his acquaintance conceived of a situation so desperate or frightening, they would have been too distraught to leave their beds this morning.

“I should probably be the one to tell Lord and Lady Maidstone.” Her fingers were clasped around the edges of his cloak, her white knuckles the only outward sign of her anxiety. “Although, if you’d like to be there, too, I’m fine with that.”

“Then, I shall join you,” he said. Not only would he benefit from the retelling, but it might also be best if someone else were in the room when Miss Crawford attempted to convince his brother-in-law of her fantastic account. Simon had no idea how Maidstone would react. “Unfortunately, if you wish to speak with Lord and Lady Maidstone together, the meeting may need to be postponed a little while. My sister is rarely awake this early.”

“Oh.” She appeared momentarily nonplussed. “I’m afraid I have no idea what time it is.”

“I would guess we are approaching nine o’clock,” he said.

She blinked. “I am usually at work by now. What time does your sister get up?”

“She should be available within an hour or so,” he said, but his attention was drawn to her earlier comment. “What manner of work are you referring to?”

“I’m an assistant to a member of Parliament.”

Simon eyed her with concern. “Forgive me, but you are a young lady.”

“Yes.” A smile tugged at her lips, and with shock, he realized how badly he wished to see her happy. “Then again, my boss is also a lady.”

“Your boss? What is that?”

“The person I work for,” she said. “The member of Parliament for the York Central District in 2025 is Ms. Audrey Marshall.”