Must Love Breeches (6 page)

Still wide-eyed, Ada nodded. “I promise, Miss Rochon.”

Oh, God, how to word this? The next half-hour or so, however long it took, would be crucial. She couldn’t afford to make a mess of this.

“Do you remember how we met last night?”

“Certainly.”

“Have you ever seen me before at any social event you’ve been to?”

“No.”

“Do you know most of the people who attend these events?”

“Yes.” Ada shifted in her chair, edging closer to the bed.

Good, she’s intrigued.
“But you do meet new people occasionally, right?” Isabelle asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“And how do you meet them?”

Ada looked at her blankly.

Isabelle helped her along only a little; Ada must be brought to the conclusion by her own reasoning. “Are you introduced to them by someone else?”

“I understand. Yes.” She blushed. “I am sorry, I hope I do not offend, but, yes, new people are introduced by a mutual acquaintance.” She tipped her head a fraction. “Generally, one hears about a new individual before they appear. Particularly someone who came all the way from America.”

“And I quite rudely introduced myself, didn’t I?”

Ada shifted in her seat. The blush remained, deepening.

“It’s okay, I’m not trying to judge you, and don’t worry about offending me. I’m simply trying to explain myself and my situation. The only way to do this is for me to walk through last night and show you how I, uh, vary from the norm. I mean, differ from what you’re used to.” Isabelle prayed Ada understood. She crossed her fingers. “Please be honest and say what’s on your mind.”

“If you insist,” Ada replied. Isabelle could have sworn she saw a mischievous twinkle flit through Ada’s eyes.

“All right, so we’ve established I’m from America. And this is unusual enough you would’ve heard of, say, a diplomat’s relative or daughter arriving in your social circle. I also didn’t conform to etiquette and wait to be introduced to you. Can you remember anything else last night that struck you as unusual?”

“Besides not being able to understand the majority of your speech?” A smile tugged at Ada’s lips.

Isabelle laughed. “Yes, though try to remember our conversation, and ask me about things that puzzled you.”

Ada seemed to enjoy this, as if it were a game.

If only.

“Let me think. Well, if you are certain you wish me to be entirely frank, though this will be difficult. Particularly as the first item will sound as if I am puffing myself up, but it is the truth.”

Isabelle nodded and waited, though it was hard.

Finally, Ada screwed up her courage. “You did not know who I was.” A deep pink blush crept up her neck and face.

“I, uh, sorry, go on,” as it hit Isabelle who she was talking to. Could she truly be—

“You inquired whether Lord Byron was an ancestor.”

“Yes.” Isabelle held her breath.

“Unfortunately, everyone here knows I am his offspring.” Ada paused. “Though, perhaps this is not everyday knowledge in America.” She looked at her hands.

“Ohmigod! You
are
Ada Byron Lovelace! This is so amazing. Wow! It’s so cool to meet you.” Isabelle stopped herself from bouncing up and down on the bed.
Shouldn’t frighten her.

Ada jumped in her seat. “That is also peculiar. Your speech and manner proclaim to know who I am, but you use a family name with which I am unfamiliar—Lovelace.”

Oh, right, Ada wasn’t married yet. And didn’t her future husband gain the name later as a title or something? Instinctively, Isabelle picked up her phone to look up Ada’s bio and laughed, tossing the phone down.

“Sorry, my mistake.” Probably better not to answer Ada’s question. “Any other differences?”

Ada gazed at the ceiling. “You said you had consulted
old
fashion plates for your gown, but your dress is in the first stare of fashion.”

Oooh, Isabelle had forgotten she’d said that. Good thread to unravel more. “Do you remember what else I said about my dress? Who made it?”

“Yes, your answer struck me as odd.” Ada continued pointing out details she’d noticed, encouraged by Isabelle’s prodding, concluding her list with Isabelle’s behavior on the street.

“Yes, that sums up last night pretty well,” Isabelle said. “I
was
surprised to see all those things. To see gas lights everywhere instead of only in some of the historic districts. To see period clothes. The thick smell of coal smoke. The absence of things I’m used to seeing on any London street. Plus, the fact there’d been a heavy rainstorm last night, and when I left, the ground and streets looked as if it hadn’t rained in days.” Isabelle closed her eyes and shuddered. She looked at Ada. Would she understand? She rubbed her forehead. Couldn’t her headache die down a little?

Isabelle sighed. “And then, I’m robbed by a street urchin straight from a Dickens novel and wake up here, in a room beautifully decorated with antiques that look brand new.”
Oops, probably shouldn’t have mentioned Dickens, since he hasn’t started writing yet. Not novels, anyway.

At the last, Ada gasped. “Antiques! Mrs. Somerville does not have a stick of old, ratty furniture. This is all entirely modern, I assure you.”

Isabelle smiled. It was time. “To you, they are modern. To me, however, they are,” she crossed her fingers again and took a deep breath, “they are from an earlier time. Much earlier.”

Ada frowned.

“What I’m trying to tell you, the reason all this is strange to me, is because it is. I don’t normally see these things in my life.”

“Is America truly so different? I have heard tales, but generally—” and again, Ada blushed, “generally the tales I hear make it sound as if you are, you live, well, more primitively.” Ada took a breath and held it, her face further reddening.

Isabelle picked up her phone and hit the
space
bar. “Come closer, Ada, let me show you something. You like numbers and are good at math. If I remember my timeline right, you know Charles Babbage already, and he has talked to you about his Analytical Engine?”

Ada’s face drained of color. “Yes, though not many people know. How do you?”

Oh, yeah. He was still working on the Difference Engine right now. “He wants to use the engine to calculate numbers automatically, correct?”

Ada nodded.

“Look closely.” Isabelle scrolled down to her Applications folder and pulled up her calculator.

A sharp intake of breath sounded beside her.

What must this look like to Ada? Magic? They didn’t still hang witches, did they? Isabelle shook her head and demonstrated anyway.

“See these little numbers here? I’m going to add forty-eight plus fifteen hundred and sixteen.” Isabelle punched buttons while she talked. “And the screen here shows the answer.”

Isabelle peeked at Ada to gauge her reaction.

Ada blanched again. She held a trembling hand to her mouth. “How—how—I do not understand.”

Man, she’d just rocked Ada’s world. Probably almost made her mind explode. Hopefully, it was able to take a little more. “I’m sorry, Ada, but the truth is, I’m from the future.”

The best of prophets of the future is the past.
Lord Byron,
Journal
, 1821

Isabelle stared at Ada’s crumpled form on the Aubusson rug.

“Oh, shit.”

The “good old times”—all times when old are good—
Are gone.
Lord Byron,
The Age of Bronze
, 1823

One of Ada’s arms wouldn’t stay in place—it kept flopping down at an ungraceful angle. Isabelle had pulled her into the chair as best she could and arranged her limbs as naturally as possible, but that one arm wouldn’t cooperate. The whole time, Ada remained unconscious.

It seemed somehow sacrilegious to have her sprawling in the chair so inelegantly. What to do? Weren’t there bell ropes to pull in these rooms? But she’d have to explain
why
Ada had fainted if Mrs. Somerville investigated.

Isabelle gave up on the arm and paced the room, flapping her hands back and forth. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

She looked back at Ada and bit her lower lip. Would Ada believe her when she woke?

I’ve gone about this all wrong.

She found a cloth on the dresser next to the basin, dampened it, and gave Ada’s forehead a wipe. And a couple pats. And another wipe.

Ada stirred. “Wha—What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Ada. I went too fast. You fainted.”

She sat straighter. “I don’t faint.”

Isabelle set the cloth down. She plopped onto the bed’s edge, smiled and shrugged.

Ada continued, “That is to say, I used to, when I was an invalid. But I have been well for a year.” She passed her hand across her forehead. “Perhaps I should not have skipped breakfast again. That must be it, I―”

“Ada. Look at me.”

Ada twisted her hands, staring at them. “Mother worried I might have a weak mind. I must constantly study. Obviously, she was correct. I have been neglecting my studies of late. I shall draw up a new regimen and stay focused. Mrs. Somerville can assist me.”

Yikes
. “Ada,” Isabelle said, louder this time, and thumped her hands on the bed.

Ada’s head jerked up, her eyes wide.

“Your mind is fine. I’ve given you quite a shock. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to do this. Believe me, last night and this morning, I was worried about my own sanity. You’re a logical and practical person, able to evaluate evidence and draw a conclusion. Based on what we discussed and the facts I’ve shown you, what other explanation is there?”

Ada took a deep breath and stared at Isabelle for a long time. She stared at the phone on the nightstand.

Isabelle kept quiet, waiting. Ada
had
to believe.

Time seemed to zero in on the moment; it advanced only whenever Ada moved her eyes or made other slight movements. Ada stood and paced, and time flowed normally again.

“You are correct. That is the only plausible explanation, however difficult it is to credit.” Ada whipped around. “Heavens, this is simply amazing! You must tell me everything!”

Isabelle laughed.

“I should tell Mrs. Somerville.” Ada moved toward the door.

Isabelle jumped up. “No, don’t. Please? I’m extremely lucky I met you. I can’t take the risk others would be so open-minded. Bedlam is still an operating insane asylum, right?”

Ada stilled. “Yes.”

“We can’t risk it. They might incarcerate us both. No one else can know. Keep this a secret, promise?”

Ada nodded. “You are right. I shall give Mrs. Somerville a different explanation.” Ada sat in her chair. “Have you been in our time long? Do you have a place to go? You mentioned last night you live in Guildford? But wait, your behavior last night would suggest—”

Isabelle’s chest tightened. She sank back onto the bed.
No
. She shoved thoughts of her house aside. The house that had become a healing force in her life.

“Yes. This all happened last night at the ball.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t fully accept it until a short while ago. I saw the evidence, but was in complete denial. One moment, I was at a ball in my own time, the next I’d somehow arrived in this one. I have nothing except what I came with, which isn’t much.”

“I shall help you, fear not. You are a lady in distress, regardless, and that is what matters. We must make it convincing you are from this time.”

Isabelle slumped back in the bed, relief suffusing her arms and legs. “Thank you so much, Ada. You know, I’ll need a cover story.”

“A cover story?”

“Er, an alternate story to hide the real one.”

“Oh, hmm.” She tapped a finger on her lower lip. “You will be a distant cousin sent here to be my companion.”

Wow, that was quick. “What about Lord Montagu? You didn’t introduce me as your cousin last night.”

“Leave him to me.” Ada stood and pulled the bell rope by the dresser.

So that’s where it is
.

The maid entered a few minutes later, and Ada asked, “Is Mrs. Somerville at home?”

“Yes, miss. She’s in her study.”

“Thank you.” Ada flashed a smile at Isabelle. “Rest. I shall make things right with Mrs. Somerville.”