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“Simon,” she lowered her voice. “If sharing whatever is bothering you would help, you can tell me.”

He looked away. Isla waited, her anxiety mounting. Any minute now, another servant would appear. In a house so well staffed, that was the way of things.

“I may be limited in what I can do to help,” she added, “but I can listen.”

“You do a great deal more than simply listen, Isla,” he said, turning back to face her. “I can offer you a rather extensive list of remarkable things you have done since your arrival. But this is not the time or place to discuss my present concern. If I may, I should like to postpone that conversation until after our outing.”

“You are sure?”

He nodded. “I am sure. It will wait until you have experienced London as it is today.” He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

She smiled at his use of the word. She wished he had chosen to talk now, but she would not force him to confide in her. Instead, she would play along with his teasing, and perhaps that would be enough to remove the lines on his forehead—at least for a while.

“Okay,” she said. “Take me to the barely moving horse.”

With a chuckle, Simon led her outside. Anson was standing on the side of the road, holding the reins of three horses. Blaze stood half a head taller than the gray horse at his right and the brown horse at his left.

“Which one is mine?” Isla asked.

“The gray.” Simon ran his free hand along the animal’s nose. It gave a contented snort. “The gentlest mare in the stable, is what I was told.”

“I like the sound of that.” Isla reached up to pat the horse’s neck. “What is your name, young lady?”

“Stormy,” Simon said.

Isla gave him a dubious look. “Stormy? My confidence in your choice of mount just dropped a few notches.”

Simon grinned. “She’s the same color as today’s skies, and there’s scarcely a breeze. I daresay someone named her before her placid disposition manifested itself.”

“Hmm.” Isla was far from convinced, but with her “okay” in the house, she was committed.

“Are you ready?” Simon asked, releasing her arm so he could place his hands at her waist.

“Yes,” she said.

Moments later, she was in the saddle, and his hands were gone. Anson handed her the reins, and as Simon took charge of Blaze, Anson mounted the brown horse.

“We will follow the Strand to Charing Cross, Anson,” Simon said.

“Very good, my lord.”

Anson waited until Simon and Isla were several paces ahead of him before bringing up the rear, and it wasn’t long before Isla all but forgot he was there.

“The place names are the same as the ones I know,” she said, gazing at the row of timbered Tudor houses lining the road on either side of them. “But everything looks completely different.”

“How is it different?” Simon asked.

“In the twenty-first century, the dirt roads are covered with a hard, black coating and are painted to help the vehicles stay where they’re supposed to be. The wooden buildings are gone, replaced by tall structures made of stone, brick, and concrete.”

“Concrete?”

“It’s a man-made substance that revolutionized construction of all kinds—from houses to bridges to walkways.”

“What color is it?” Simon asked.

“Gray, usually.”

They entered a square where three roads converged. A large stone monument topped with a cross stood in the center of the open area. Isla studied it with interest.