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Isla slid a printed copy of Audrey Marshall’s recent speech on housing reform into the filing cabinet and closed the drawer with a satisfied push. Her boss was not scheduled to make another public appearance for a week. It was a welcome reprieve after a fortnight of back-to-back commitments.
“Hey, Isla.” Chloe popped her head around the office door. “Simon’s on his way up.”
Isla smiled, her heart lifting in anticipation of the evening she had planned with her husband. “Great,” she said, locking the filing cabinet. “I’ll be right there.”
Taking a moment to switch off the light, Isla closed the door on Ms. Marshall’s room and walked out into the main office just as Simon entered through the doors that led to the lifts. Dressed in well-fitting jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a black jacket, his dark, wavy hair cut short and his neatly trimmed beard replaced by a light scruff, he was, simply put, thoroughly modern and distractingly handsome.
“Hi, Simon,” Chloe called from her desk. “How are all the king’s horses and all the king’s men today?”
Simon chuckled. His position as Riding Master at the Royal Mews inevitably invited this question from Chloe. “Well, I cannot speak for all of them, but this one is very well. How are you?”
“Oh, you know. Livin’ the dream.”
A slight crease appeared on Simon’s forehead. It was an all-too-common occurrence when he spoke to Chloe. Modern idioms and seventeenth-century English were a tricky mix.
“And that is a good thing?” he guessed.
“Yeah,” Chloe said with a smile. “I suppose it is.”
Isla stepped up to rescue him. “Hi.”
He swung around, his arms instantly circling her. “Hi to you too.” He kissed her softly. “You know what one of my favorite things is about this era?” he whispered.
She raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What?”
“I can kiss you in public, and no one even gasps.”
Isla laughed softly. “That’s definitely a bonus, but nothing compares to the miracle of having you standing here, whole and healthy.”
He didn’t need to say anything for Isla to know that they were both thinking back to the day he’d staggered out of the McQuivey Costume Shop’s changing room, weak from the loss of blood and pain. Mrs. McQuivey had called for the ambulance and had handed Isla a large bag.
“The clothes you were wearing when you first arrived,” she’d said. “And a few things for your young man.” She’d leaned a little closer and lowered her voice as though not wishing to offend Simon. “An American lumberjack costume is not exactly what the best-dressed men in London are wearing, but I thought jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt might be an improvement over his current ensemble.”
Emotion had all but stolen Isla’s voice, but she’d hugged the older lady tightly and had held on to the bag during the seemingly interminable wait for the ambulance, the ride to the hospital, and the surgery that had followed. The doctors had removed Simon’s punctured spleen and given him high-powered antibiotics to counter the effects of Guy Fawkes’s filthy dagger. But it was only when Isla had removed the clothing from the bag that she’d discovered Mrs. McQuivey’s hidden gift. An official birth certificate for a Simon Hartworth Bancroft, born in Derbyshire in 1997, and a reference letter for the Lord Chamberlain’s Office, recommending Simon for the position of Liveried Helper at the Royal Mews.
Working with horses as a member of the royal staff had been the perfect starting job for Simon, particularly while he had adjusted to living in a world so far removed from the one he’d always known, but his confidence and skill as a rider along with his experience with harnesses and carriages had quickly elevated him to the prestigious position of Riding Master. And not long afterward, they had ended their fake betrothal with a very real, private wedding.
Simon slid his fingers down her arm to claim her hand. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” She lifted her bag onto her shoulder. “Are you okay locking up tonight, Chloe?”
“No problem.” Chloe eyed them curiously. “D’you two have big plans for Guy Fawkes Night?”
“We’re headed to Surrey for the evening,” Isla said.
“Isn’t that where you met?”
“It is.” Simon gave Isla’s hand a gentle tug. “And if we are to leave ahead of the rush-hour traffic, we’d best depart right away.”
Chloe sighed. She was used to Simon’s occasional use of older English, but it always produced a dreamy look in her eyes. “I think I need to make a visit to Surrey to find a Simon of my own.”
Isla bit back a smile. “Good idea. I’ll let you know if I spot another one while we’re there.”
With a light laugh, Chloe slid a pile of papers onto the corner of her desk. “Have a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Two hours later, Simon pulled their red Vauxhall Corsa into the small parking area at Copfield Park.
“It still feels odd to come here and not see the Maidstones’ manor waiting for us,” Isla said. “But I’m glad the county council turned the land into a public park.”
