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“The chemise goes first, then the farthingale, followed by the stays, the gown, and the jacket.” The shopkeeper set a chemise on top of the gown in Isla’s arms, and carrying the hooped farthingale, she started toward the back of the shop. “This way, my dear. And while you try that on, I’ll look for the Wendy costume—if you still want it, that is.”

“Yes,” Isla said, a hint of desperation in her voice. It would take forever to put this costume on. She’d gone out of her way to come to the costume shop to please Chloe. She shouldn’t have to please the shop’s proprietor too. “The Wendy costume is really all I came for.”

Mrs. McQuivey waved a hand in the general direction of the other racks. “Don’t worry. It’s out there somewhere. I’m quite sure I saw it recently. But you might as well try on something more you while you’re waiting.”

Isla really didn’t know why the older lady thought a cumbersome late-Elizabethan gown was more her than a comfortable nightie, but refusing her offer seemed pointless. Particularly as Isla couldn’t deny that she was unaccountably drawn to the shimmery silk gown. If it was going to take Mrs. McQuivey time to find the right costume, Isla may as well have some fun trying on this one while she waited.

“Okay.” Isla spotted a couple of curtained cubicles in the corner. “Shall I use one of those changing rooms?”

“No.” Mrs. McQuivey stopped opposite a dark-green door. “Use this one. There’s better lighting.” She smiled. “Be sure to come out once you’re dressed, so I can see how you look.”

Isla nodded and reached for the brass doorknob. Etched with an intricate depiction of the sun, moon, and stars, it was polished to a shine. She ran her fingers over the smooth metal, admiring the craftsman’s skill before opening the door and stepping inside.

It was a small room. Perhaps it had once been a pantry or cleaning cupboard. The floor was wood and the white walls were not quite straight. A large mirror hung on one of the walls, and a row of small hooks was situated above a short bench. Hanging the various pieces of clothing in her arms on the hooks, Isla set her purse on the bench and kicked off her shoes. No matter what Mrs. McQuivey said, it was going to take serious concentration to put this costume on correctly.

Several minutes later, Isla smoothed her hands down the floral silk skirt and surveyed herself in the mirror. A small smile danced on her lips. The gown fit perfectly. Although the stays were restrictive, she could not help but notice how well they accentuated her small waist. And below the stays, the wide hoops of the farthingale held out the gown in a perfect dome.

Isla swayed from side to side. Like a silent bell, the gown’s hem swooshed across the floor, gently brushing her bare feet. The neckline was lower than she was used to, but a wide Medici lace collar ran around the back of her neck, drawing the eye upward. Her light-brown hair fell in gentle waves to skim the shoulders of the beaded jacket that was almost exactly the same color blue as her eyes. She smiled again. She felt like a princess.

“Are you managing, my dear?” Mrs. McQuivey’s voice reached her from the other side of the door.

“Yes, thank you.” Somehow, she’d navigated the inordinate number of ties and pins. “I think I’ve put everything on right.” Knowing that Mrs. McQuivey would not be satisfied unless she saw Isla in the costume for herself, Isla turned from the mirror and opened the door. “What do you think?”

She stepped out of the changing room and onto a gravel path. She gasped, staggering sideways. This time, her feet met grass. A breeze caught her skirt, and the fabric flapped against her bare ankles. She looked up. The costume shop was gone. In its place, a vast lawn stretched out before her. A gravel driveway circled the grass, lined with large trees and bushes. On the other side of the lawn, a gray-stone manor house filled the view, complete with small-paned windows, more chimneys than she could count, and half a dozen stone steps leading to a wide wooden door.

Isla swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She’d never had a hallucination before, but this had to be one. A rumble filled the air. It sounded like thunder. The skies had been clear when she’d entered the shop. She stumbled back a pace, wincing as her feet encountered the small rocks again. She’d always been told that you didn’t feel pain in dreams. Was the same true for hallucinations?

“Mrs. McQuivey?” Isla attempted to clear her constricted throat. “Mrs. McQuivey?”

There was no reply. Spinning around, Isla reached for the changing room doorknob. It was gone. In its place, an old-fashioned latch hung on a black door. The door was unusually short and appeared to be the only entrance into a stone hut of some sort. Isla depressed the handle and wrenched the door open. Wood, chopped in tidy stacks, filled the space within. Panic welled. It looked like a woodshed. But how could that be? Moments ago, it had been a changing room.

“Mrs. McQuivey! Where are you?”

Another gust of wind rattled the nearby branches, and gray clouds scudded across the sky, blocking the lowering sun. A crack of lightning was followed almost immediately by a second roll of thunder. The storm was close. Even as Isla framed the thought, she felt the first droplets of rain. Within seconds, the isolated drops became a deluge. The gravel hissed as the rain hit the ground at full force.

Turning her back on the woodshed, she lifted her sodden skirts and dashed for the closest trees. Water ran down her face, dripping off her hair and clothing. Her feet slipped on the wet grass, and she stumbled, falling to her hands and knees. A sob escaped her. This couldn’t be happening. Wrestling yards of heavy, drenched fabric, she pulled herself upright and stumbled on. Another crack of lightning lit the sky, and a new awareness filled her. She couldn’t take cover beneath the trees. Not until after the storm passed. Her gaze shifted to the distant manor house. Who lived there? Would they know how to help her?

Another clap of thunder. And then a hawk’s piercing cry. She shivered, fear tightening her chest. How could she be in a costume shop one minute and outside in a completely unfamiliar location the next? It made no sense. And where was Mrs. McQuivey? Or Pickering Place? She fought back another sob. With no sign of the older lady or a landmark she recognized, Isla had no choice. She was soaked to the skin and couldn’t feel her feet anymore. Her only hope of avoiding hypothermia was to seek shelter at the house.

Chapter 2

Copfield Hall, Surrey

September 1605

Cursing his bad luck, Simon Hartworth lowered his head against the driving rain and urged his mount across the courtyard behind Copfield Hall. The wide brim of his cavalier hat offered his face a modicum of protection, but no manner of headwear or cloak could compete with this storm. He slid from his saddle and tugged on the wet reins. If he’d left London ten minutes earlier, he would have arrived ahead of the storm. As it was, he would be giving some poor stableboy a devil of a job and trailing a small river of water into his sister’s entrance hall.

Pulling open the stable door, he led his horse inside. Physical relief from the pelting rain was instant, but the rattle of water hitting the clay tile roof overhead continued. One of the nearby horses snorted nervously. Simon’s mount tossed his head and pulled away.

“Steady, boy.” Simon ran a wet hand over the horse’s equally wet neck. “Your lot will improve soon enough.”

“Evenin’, Lord Bancroft.” A thin lad of about twelve years of age approached and inclined his head respectfully.

“And to you, Ezra. Although, I daresay it would be better for us both if the rain had held off.” He handed the stableboy his reins. “I fear Blaze will need some extra attention. It has been a long journey, and the last few furlongs were particularly unpleasant.”

“Don’ you worry none, m’ lord.” Ezra eyed the black thoroughbred appreciatively. “A good rubdown’ll do wonders t’ settle ’im.”

“I am sure it will. And perhaps a little extra feed would not go amiss either.”